


House arrest

by animal



Series: House arrest AU [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Angst over alcoholism and addiction (eventually), Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben Solo is on house arrest at his mother's, Ben Solo is one ingenious boi, Ben Solo isn't shy at all, Ben Solo teases and flirts left and right, Blush kink, Blushing, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, Explicit Consent, F/M, I-came-for-the-fluff-wtf-is-going-on syndrom, Kenobi's his neighbor, Mutual Pining, Overconfident Ben Solo, Praise Kink, Rey is the shyest thing, Shit ton of fluff too, Shyness kink, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Suburbs, Teasing!Ben, There's smut early on but then it qualifies as a slow burn, Welcome to Sassland, Working for minimum wage, house arrest, it's funny but it's lonely, overwhelming shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 66,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animal/pseuds/animal
Summary: Ben Solo has been out of prison and on probation for three months now.He's on house arrest at his mother's as a condition of his release, and spends most of his days alone, still struggling with the aftermaths of his one year sentence, when he notices a woman keeps watching him from one of the Kenobis' windows everytime he's out in his backyard.





	1. A well behaved adult

**Author's Note:**

> I'm forever grateful to P., who graciously offered to edit my nonsense.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading
> 
> I hope you enjoy ! =)

There she is.

At one of the first floor windows of his neighbor's house.

She's half hiding behind the curtain, but it's not enough for Ben not to see she's checking his backyard. She stays there, as if she was waiting for something to happen.

It's summer but she's wearing a light blue long sleeved top that looks like it's made of cotton, and a knee-length skirt. A low bun. A well-behaved adult, that one.

 

She must think he knows nothing about her watching him whenever he's out.

 

He's at his window himself, not even hiding, waiting to see when she'll get tired of it and leave. 

What happens is even better. For some reason she lifts up her eyes and sees him watching her. If he ever had any doubt about her spying on him, the way she pulls back from the window as if burnt is proof enough of her guilty hobby.

He can't deny he's curious of the interest his creepy neighbor has for him. It's not like he's got anything else to do. 

 

" _What's your deal, woman ?_ " he mutters to himself.

 

The house stays silent in return.

 

 

 

Trees heavy with birds and taller that two story houses, all aligned for miles and miles, arranged in a surbuban maze.

 

He would have found his street sort of beautiful seeing it three months ago for the first time since his eighteenth birthday, if it weren't for the circomstances that got him back here in the first place.

 

He wishes he'd been on house arrest during the winter. Maybe it would have been more tolerable, than now that he can't drive to the ocean due to his mandatory confinment all the while having to hear his nearby neighbors enjoy their pools all day.

Not that he ever forgets his driver's license has been revoked.

  
Now that he thinks of it, eveything is worth looking at when you get out of prison. He's only been there for a year, and despite the general inertia he felt the day of his release he'd been caught staring at the smallest things through the window of the police car that drove him back at his mother's. He just couldn't have enough of being on the highway, passing by gas stations, then later bus stops.

  
Liquor stores.

  
But maybe his hometown really just remained the shitty average sized surburb town he hated as a kid after all.

 

His mother dares to take some pride -through the ever-growing shame she desperately tries to hide from him- in the fact that he got out on probation because of his _good behavior_ , and he isn't cruel enough to let her know that really this generosity of the judge is only due to the prisons across the state being insanely overcrowded.

She's stuck with him. The least he can do is let her cling onto whatever's left of the hopes she had for him once upon a time.

 

He's lost weight. Turns out being stuck at home months at a time doesn't do your physique any good. Neither does what he still refuses to call a depression, and that his mother was quick to diagnose.

He doesn't eat because there's nothing good to eat, but obviously he's not the one grocery shopping. He can't really complain to his mother about it.

He prefers not to think about the reasons why he doesn't sleep. 

 

Only a year in prison, yet after three months spent in this house he still hasn't lost the habit to walk in circles in his room. 

It's like a second nature he can't shake, no matter how long he's been out. Maybe it speaks volumes about the kind of freedom he really has.

Whenever he's in his backyard, it's not long before he walks in circles again, head low, keeping his mind busy with nonsense or mild obsessions. Some might say keeping his mind empty. He doesn't care to find out which is true.

Only three months to go, and he'll been gone forever all over again.

 

 

But at least, for now...

 

He's got a neighbor that looks like she's got a lot of time on her hands too. 

Everytime he's out, which wasn't often up until he noticed she was watching him, she gets behind one of her windows, places herself in a way she believes doesn't reveal her presence, and looks at him.

 

_Who the fuck is she ?_

From what little he made out of her face, he doesn't recognize her from when he was a teen. 

 

His mother tries to hide her impatience when he asks her about the woman who hangs at the Kenobi's house all day.

 _Right_. He tends to not realize he's constantly asking her questions. A house arrest will do that to someone.

As soon as she's at the door, he gets to her and asks all kinds of shit, like a five year-old. It's almost upsetting to him to have himself acting like a child all over again.

Nothing's more unsettling than going from a testosterone filled environment where he lifted weights and kept a poker face all day straight to his childhood home, living with his mother and acting like the boy she had very little patience for when he actually was one.

She's sick of it, he can tell, despite her trying not to show it too much -doing in the end a terrible job at it.

  
"I don't know, Ben. I know she's his granddaughter, maybe she takes care of him ? You know Kenobi's terribly old."

"He _was_ terribly old when I was fifteen, how come he hasn't died yet ?"

 

She ignores him. 

It's alright, he can take a bit of indifference.

It's not like she spends all her time outside the house working or doing whatever she finds to do in order to avoid his company; not like he spends his days completely alone since no one is even remotely close to pay a visit to the walking disappointment of the Solo family. 

 

But if Kenobi's granddaughter keeps staring at him whenever he's out, life might just be about to get less lonely. 

 

 

 


	2. Odd, odd bird

For some time he thinks he must have cured her of her curiosity the day he caught her, because he doesn't see her at her window anymore. 

He's careful to be out at different times of the day, glancing discreetly to check if she's there. She isn't.

 

He can't say it doesn't sadden him. 

 

It also just makes him painfully aware of how badly he's in need of the smallest distraction, for him to latch onto the weirdest social interaction there is. He doesn't go further into analyzing that, sensing it would only depress him some more.

 

He sighs in frustration in his backyard, hands in his pockets and walks in circles.

Back to whatever that was. 

 

Until no long after on one blessed day, he's the one at his window -ironically to close the curtain to play his childhood video games- when he sees her in Kenobi's backyard. 

 

She's hanging the laundry with the careful, slow mouvements of a surgeon, or a delicacy that could be one of a painter. She steps on the grass like she's been preyed upon and must be discreet. She must be the kind to apologize profusely. 

 

 _What an odd, odd bird_ , he thinks when she's finished hanging everything. She stands there for a moment, arms on her side, before making a few steps, hesitating. 

He frowns, wondering what she's doing until she approaches the fence separating their backyards, at the spot where the hedgerow stops and where she can fit in  _to peek through_ what he can only guess is _a crack in the wood._  

 

Oh this is just too good. 

Too.

Good. 

 

She waits there for a bit and then retreats, head low in what he's eager to read as disappointment, he hopes the same kind he felt when he thought she just gave up on him.

"Don't worry woman, I got you", he mutters, a smile creeping on his lips. 

 

He's not in a hurry and waits for the next day to go to his backyard.

He tries to listen closely if she's coming without getting too close to the fence so that he won't look suspicious to her if she does.

He thinks there's just no way he'll know for sure, until he hears a small rustle of leaves he never would have paid attention to in a million years had he not expected it.

It demands all the effort in the world not to full-on _grin_ as he starts walking in circles, like he knows she's watched him do a few times before.

 

That's all he does the first time but he doesn't intend to leave it at that.  

 

The next day he stays at his window for a full hour waiting for her to get outside. He leaves his spot to heat up a plate his mother left him out of needing something to do, since there's just no way he's gonna eat that, and when he's back, _she's there_ , watering the row of irises at the back of Kenobi's backyard. 

 

He wonders if she's trying to make excuses for herself, if those irises really need watering.

 

It only takes for her to vaguely glance at the fence, and he jumps from his seat and _rushes_ down the stairs. 

In a second he's out. 

 

If his cellmates could only see him now. 

 

 

He 's back doing circles purely by default, then he stops.

 

He doesn't know why he's inspired to do so, but before he knows it, he takes off his shirt, hoping he does it more or less casually, making sure he's in her sight.

Then his shorts are off too, leaving on only his briefs. He contemplates the idea of getting fully naked for a second before thinking better of it. It'd just make her run off. 

 

For the first time since maybe ever, he lays down in the lawn. He's half in the sun, half in the shadow of his mother's poplar.

There's no reconciliating how he acted in prison and how he's acting now, putting on a show for the weirdo next door. 

 

He can't be sure she watches the whole time, but he's really committed to making her trust he doesn't suspect a thing, so he lays there for much longer than he ever would have. 

 

It's such a faint sound that he tries to reason himself that he must have dreamt it, but he thinks he hears a short exhale at some point. 

 

Then what he _definitely_ hears is the sound of the Kenobi's kitchen door, the one that leading into the backyard, gently, quietly closing.

 

Now that just makes him smile like there's no tomorrow.

 

He doesn't have the intention of repeating that five hundred times since he'd always have to wait until she's out to go out, and that might just look suspicious at some point.

 

So the next time he's at his window and catches her approaching the fence with wary steps, hesitating as if it was the first time she was doing this, he gets out by the front door and tip toes, trying to get his large frame to go unnoticed as he silently follows the fence, the small tool his mother keeps in her kitchen in hand, then quietly stands on said tool near her monitoring station to slowly, very slowly get his head to rise past the fence. 

 

He feels a rush of adrenaline run his body to actually see her despite the fact he fully expected her to be there.

She has the most candid face, her hands nervously twiddling her skirt, and she isn't looking through the crack just yet, eyes going from one point to another as if deciding if she should.

His heart's pounding from the sole fact he's so close to her out in the open without her having noticed yet. He doesn't even need to crane his neck, his head is in plain sight.

 

God.

How fun can it get ?

 

"Hello."

 

Sure he'd be lying if he said he didn't count on her being startled.

But the way she straight up _jumps_ he could never have predicted.

 

He acts unfased as she steps back in haste, close to fall in the process, all the while blushing the deepest red he's ever seen on someone's face. 

It's so obvious even as she gets away it's all he can see.

 

He's so done.

 

There's just no way he'll be able to keep from trying to make her blush non stop if he ever gets the chance.

He doesn't even hear what she's stuttering to him he's so moved, and only catches a small, whispery "goodbye" before she turns to rush inside.

 

Wow.

 

 _It's so, so on_. 

 

 

 

 


	3. The watering can

One thing he can't do, he soon reasons, is going at the Kenobi house. His perimeter of confinment is very limited, and while he can go in the street to, say, get the mail, he absolutely cannot go to his neighbor's door. He can climb the fence and have a few feet on the side of their house where he could walk around without the strident alarm at his ankle going off.

 

But come on, that's hardly a plan. 

 

Clearly a desperate measure for desperate times.

And he's not desperate just yet, is he ? 

 

What's certain is that there's no need to wait and see, to know she definitely won't be spying on him anymore. 

 

 

When his mother comes home he's at the door right away, refrains babbling on about the woman next door and what happened before asking:  

 

"Leia, do you have Kenobi's phone number ?"

 

"Don't call me Leia, Ben, you know I hate it", she says not looking at him, hanging her bag at a peg near the door.

 

"I didn't call you _Leiaben_ , I called you Leia. So you have it ?"

 

She ignores him, takes off her shoes.

 

He stares pointedly at her before articulating exaggeratedly : "Do you have it _mommy_ ? "

 

"Yes," she answers, satisfied. "I think I do. I'll have to look. "

 

"Can you look now ? "

 

"Are you gonna say hello to me, ask me about my day for a change ?" she asks innocently, walking to the kitchen. He's following closely, a giant on a pixie's heels.

 

"You never ask _me_ about my day", he states. 

 

She scoffs and retorts back before taking the time to think: "You'd have nothing to talk about !"

 

He's helpless in easing the unbearable silence that follows.

 

She exhales through her nose, obviously regretting her words, and asks: 

 

"Why do you need Kenobi's number ? "

 

Whether it's because she avoids acknowledging what she just said, or because she's actually right, Ben is suddenly all about sarcasm, lips in a straight line, fist clenching on the counter: 

 

"I just miss him so much, I can hardly stand it. I need to speak to him. "

 

"Ben." 

 

"Yes, mother ?"

 

She sighs, still not looking at him. 

"Can you please... please, stay out of trouble ? "

 

Just like he can't keep from acting like a child again, she can't keep from treating him as one. 

 

He mutters, words sharp:

 

"You're _dedicated_ into making everything that much harder for me, aren't you ? ...as if that wasn't the only thing I had nowadays."

 

He swallows hard, and when she doesn't say anything he asks dryly:

 

"Am I gonna have to beg for that fucking number, _Leia_ ? "

 

"No, Ben. No need", she says, defeated, and he can't stand her tone, so he mutters once more a "Forget it" and actually _go to his room_. 

 

For good measure, because he cannot stand that he's made out to be a _teenager,_ he does some push-ups until he's sure he won't be able to lift his arms up the next day, takes a shower and prepares himself for bed without bothering to eat while already frustrated at the fact that he likely won't be able to sleep, when he stops in his tracks.

 

At a Kenobi's window, the one not quite facing his, sits his grand-daughter. She's reading. Her hair down. The night hasn't yet fallen just quite.

 

He stares.

 

It's alright, he doesn't need his mother's help, and actually, he doesn't need anyone. 

 

 

With something close to determination, he gets out in his backyard the next afternoon. Quickly assessing what's in his garden that could do the trick, he spots an aluminium watering can, that doesn't exactly stand out but is still big, and that should be enough, he thinks. 

 

Without second guessing, he walks to the fence, and throws the watering can over it. 

 

He's careful not to throw it too far, so that it's clear it comes from his side, and not the house on the opposite side of the Kenobi's.

 

It's very likely she'll just throw it back, but he figures there's a good chance she'll be the kind to be too polite not to bring it back to his front door, to ask if it's indeed his. 

 

He gives absolutely no shit about the fact that there's no good reason for a watering can to be accidentally thrown over a fence in the first place. 

 

He spies from his first floor window, waiting for her to get out. 

 

Surprisingly, or maybe not, it only takes thirty minutes before he sees her stepping out into her garden, in a white cotton top and a knee length denim skirt. She apparently spotted the watering can from inside, because she goes straight to it, although with slow, suspicious steps.

 

She eyes the watering can, then the fence, then the watering can again. 

 

"Come on, girl" he catches himself muttering aloud. "Why not be good and bring it back to me ?"

 

She has the watering can in her hands now, looking at it, as if she could ever find a name on it, and just really looking like she doesn't know what to do. 

 

 

"I know", he says again to himself as if he was agreeing with her confused look; "...a watering can, how distressing." 

 

 

She only looks toward the fence once again, before finally returning inside.

 

 

The watering can in her hands. 

 

 


	4. Nothing creepy !

When Ben was a kid, people would say he was just too sensitive. 

He was an intense child, as much as he was quiet. He'd spend a lot of time inside, drawing and reading, as opposed to other boys who would fight and run. That had been used against him by other kids who called him a girl, a pussy, a faggot. 

That's not something that made a lot of sense to him even when he was that young since the loudest, shrewdest, decision makers around him were all women. 

 

As a teen, he was still considered an intense person by his peers, but in a way that made most people fear him. 

Everything went downhill from there. 

With the years people had a hard time making sense of how the brooding broad shouldered tree who silenced anyone with a stare had been a delicate, affectionate, annoying shy boy.

 

Prison had felt... like purgatory, he had thought at times. Yes. Probably. A place cut from society with its own rules for gravity, depth and width.  

 

It still felt like it here, in his own house. Maybe that was why he was so caught up in this. 

And there's no need to be too serious about this, there just isn't. He's just in need of something to do.

 

But here he is.

 

Pacing _._

 

He's literally _pacing_ behind the frontdoor, fists clenched.

 

He goes to the kitchen a couple of times to try and deceive himself about having other things to do than just wait, but it doesn't work. 

 

She's likely anxious to have to speak to him, probably because speaking to anyone in general must be dreadful to her. She's rehearsing a few sentences maybe ? 

He ends up just going back and forth up and down the stairs to go sit at his window, then stand behind the front door, then back at his window.

 

Does she intend to keep the watering can after all ? 

 

If so his mother's gonna be pissed. 

 

 

He's upstairs when the bell rings. 

 

Thank god he is, because he's so eager to finally have her standing in front of him that he would have likely opened the door right the second she rang, were he downstairs. Not that he cares that much.

 

He still bolts to the front door though, opens it and... 

 

He expected her to be there, but it's something else to actually see her.  

 

She's not exactly small but he certainly makes her look small. In comparison, sure, but also because she's so intimidated she's actually bending her knees a little bit. Another knee-length skirt and... - fucking _crocs_.

Even slightly tanned on her nose and shoulders, that fine freckled skin just _screams_ _make-me-blush_.

He _will_ obtemperate.

 

She looks up at him, holding the goddamn watering can to her chest in her small hands. She barely has the time to mutter a tentative " _Hello_ " she exhales more than speaks aloud before he's on her, crowding her space.

He doesn't let her say anything and takes the watering can from her obliging hands, saying in a voice that can only sound even deeper than it is, in contrast to what her vocal chords just produced:

 

" _How kind of you_. Here, let me."

 

And just like that, he tosses it on the side in one of the bushes his mother planted in front of the house, his eyes going back on her. 

 

She tries to back off in the most discreet way as possible from him as he's walking on her, as if she didn't want to hurt his feelings, or be impolite or something. 

 

Just adorable. 

 

Meanwhile, he doesn't waste any time, knowing he can't exactly count on her coming back.

 

"What are you doing at Kenobi's ? You live there now ?"

 

She stutters, avoids his insistent stare while backing off down the alley, as he continues to walk on for every step she takes to retreat:

 

"I... I'm there for the summer", she breathes.

 

"Oh ? Me too. What's your name ? Why are you here for the summer ?"

 

"Uh, I'm Rey" _She's out of breath_ , and it can't be from just walking, can it ? "My grand-father's ill", she adds.

 

"So sorry to hear that" he says with an insincere tone. Not that he would wish for Kenobi to be ill, but the dotard never liked him, and he's not about to develop a sudden affection for him. 

 

"I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable with my questions."

 

 _"Nono_ , I'm fine", she says, the angel, all the while  _backing away._

 

"You sure ? You look nervous."

 

 

 

It doesn't take long for them to be in the street already. 

 

He's obviously well aware of what's about to happen but still chooses to let it happen. A few more steps and the device on his ankle is beeping furiously. He has forty-five seconds to go back in his perimeter. He's not gonna wait that long.

He doesn't even look at it, and slowly steps back, eyes still on her. She on the other hand, stops and looks down at his feet. He realizes only then he's barefoot.

 

She's embarrassed beyond measure that she got to witness this.

 

She seems to catch her breath, now that she sees he can't go any further.

 

"I'm so sorry," she stutters. 

 

He frowns. 

"For what ?"

 

She opens her mouth providing no sound, looks down, then says:

"That I made you come here."

 

That's just too much, he can't contain a small laugh as he says: "I followed you."

She's chewing on her lower lips nervously, and he adds as if to himself:

" _God_ I wish you were my judge. "

 

She's not blushing but close when she stutters again, pointing to the house behind her: "I... I have to..."

He has his hands in his pockets, eyes fixated on her, what he's seeing still causing him to smile, amused:

 

"Go ahead, I'm _watching you_. Nothing creepy !", he hurries to add like he didn't actually choose his words carefully: "I just wanna make sure you get home safe."

 

She's at her door in a few seconds. 

 

 

 

 

 

The next day, he throws a chair. 

 

A fucking chair. Over the fence. 

 

He has the instinct to first check she's not watching him do so before realizing it really doesn't matter.

 

He watches her pick up the white plastic chair an hour later like a good little soldier, and take it inside.

He tries not to let the thrill overcome him too much at the thought that she's not giving up on him, isn't hesitating somehow to pick up a chair in her garden like it's common occurrence and then bring it back to him.

He's not stupid enough to think she has no clue as to why he does this. She knows now he can't walk around freely, if she didn't already.

 

He positions himself at the first floor window on the side of the street this time, as if he's done this circus act all his life, and waits. 

 

And _would you look at that._

The chair isn't heavy, it's just cumbersome, which makes it deliriously delicious to see her walk her small careful steps with it in her arms, as if despite it being big next to her she was trying to go unremarked.

 

She's ringing at the door, for half a second, maybe because she wishes he won't hear it, wishes she could get away with this, with the fact she wants to be at his doorstep but still dreads him answering, or probably because she cares about the wellbeing of the doorbell ? 

 

When he answers the door, she's standing behind the chair, and of course she is. 

 

" _Hello_ ", she says like she rehearsed the line. 

 

"Hi", he says like a verdict.

 

And then he looks at her, and waits.

 

Like the chair isn't between them, like that doesn't make it evident why she's here. 

He even raises a questioning eyebrow at her, because he feels inspired.

She blinks at him, mouth open as though she's being refused air, utterly confused; she looks at the chair then back at him. 

 

She then hesitantly points at it, and murmurs:

"Is... is this yours ?"

 

Just the best.

 

He frowns, looks at the chair, and gives his best performance.

 

"Oh, yeees, _thank you_ , I was looking for it everywhere". He takes the chair, puts it inside and opens the door wider. 

 

"Come in."

 

This, what he's seeing on her face right now and that she's trying to gain control over, is definitely panic. Her conflict must also come from the fact that she's hardly the type to say no, or rather to refuse her neighbor a mannerly visit.

 

She's struggling, so he says :

"My mother baked a cake, but it's too big for me."

 

That does it: the mention that _yes_ , he actually _has_ a mother, every beast has one, and also he lives with her -although under duress- coupled with the cake, which is just too friendly a reference not to inspire trust, makes her enter with cautious steps.

 

There is a cake. His mother didn't bake it though, it's from a store, and she bought it to bring at a party for the evening. 

 

Oh well.

 

He pulls a stool at the counter, gestures: "Here", gets the cake still in its box out, not even hiding it -she wouldn't dare make a remark anyway so why bother - cuts a gigantic portion and lands it on a plate he puts in front of her before finally sitting next to her. 

She alternates looking at the cake and at him with wide eyes. 

"Oh I'm not hungry", he says casually. 

 

She swallows hard, because of course she's self-conscious about eating alone, furthermore as a guest. She's also too polite not to take a bite. Those have gotta be the smallest bites there are, though.

 

He sighs: "So what do you do ?"

He's too close for her to be able to make eye contact, and he's enjoying seeing her look at everything but him way too much.

 

"I'm a teacher", she says.

 

He thinks he misheard. 

 

"You're what now ?"

 

She looks at him then, afraid she gave the wrong answer.

"... a teacher ?" she tries once again. 

 

"What grade do you teach ?"

 

"Seventh grade", she replies, and that's really close to a whisper. 

 

"You're kidding." 

 

"N-no", she weakly counters. Like she's not sure. 

 

But then, he's taken aback by the fact that she dares to ask a question. If one can call that a question. 

 

"What... for ?" she asks with the smallest voice, pointing at the electronic bracelet at his ankle.

 

"To alert the police if I leave the perimeter I'm confined in."

 

He's aware of the chill such an answer can inspire, but there's no other way to say it. 

 

 

 

"No, I meant... what did you do ? "

 

Okay, so.

 _Now_ he's flat-out stunned. Blown away that that shy thing dares to ask him what everyone can only dance around. 

Doesn't mean he's inclined to give details though. She has to earn those. 

 

 

 

"Drunk driving."

 

She nods eyes down, the precious thing, and takes another bite.

 

There's silence for a few seconds besides her careful chewing.

 

"I also, uh. Got into a fight." He clears his throat. "In the middle of the highway." 

 

Guess she earned those details then. 

 

 _"Oh_ , "she comments. She wasn't eating too much, but now she's shoving the biggest bite up in there.

 

He spots it. The slightest blush down her neck.

That's all he needs. 

 

"You said you're a seventh grade teacher. They didn't eat you alive ?"

 

She pauses and shrugs timidly, about to take another bite. 

 

"I know if I had you as my teacher there'd be no looking back."

 

Her eyes widen. 

"What ?"

 

He's trying to contain a smile threatening to corrupt his performance.

 

"You look too damn sweet to be left on a shelf" he states casually, not averting his gaze even for a second, then adds: "Don't choke", as she's coughing, choking on her cake indeed, all the while stepping down from the stool, struggling for air, still not looking right at him: "I, I... I have to go. Thanks -thanks, uh, thank you. _Thank you for the cake_."

That's the longest he manages not to smile, so he can't sound or look too sincere when he tells her with a reassuring tone, following her as she's half stumbling to the door: 

 

"Look, I'm sorry. I promise I won't embarrass you anymore."

 

_Oh but he will._

 

"Okay", she breathes, and then she's gone. 

 


	5. Sad brick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about a little peek at Rey's POV ?
> 
> Some of you praise me for my quick updates.  
> I don't shower, only eat cereals, and I turn down every invitation of my friends so... there you go. That's my secret. 
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy <3

 

 

She doesn't mention her PhD in Engineering anymore when people ask her about what she does. She used to. 

 

She used to be a teacher "for the time being". 

 

Now there's just no point in ever talking about her degrees, as people are always quick to inquire why she teaches math instead of being an engineer, like she's supposed to be. 

She never really knows what to say. 

 

Is it because she stuttered, went blank and blushed at every question asked during her interviews ? 

Is it because she is a woman in a field where men mostly hires other men ? 

...Is it that she gave up ?

 

People usually weigh in to say it's because she's not assertive enough. 

She could have guessed that much.

 

Kids in her class all behave like downright demons. Yelling, throwing things across the room, hitting each other, kicking each other, standing up and walking around freely, sitting on their desks instead of their chairs. 

And they are all _extremely_ protective of her. In an obsessive way almost.

Her voice is drowned in the noise, and when a ball of paper is accidentally thrown at her, or some other unintentional attack against her occurs, her students scream at each other from sheer anger for a good five  minutes. 

 

"Martinez you dumb punk ass bitch you hit Miss Niima, you blind fuck"

 

"Language", she always mutters. 

 

"I'm not the one who threw it, you cunt ! I'd never aim at her !"

 

"Porter, you little bitch, fucking watch out for Miss Niima !"

 

"STOP SCREAMING YOU RETARD--"

 

 

She longs for summer to arrive.

 

Then again, maybe not so much. 

 

Her grandfather’s cancer had been diagnosed in January. She doesn't know him that well, having only met him a few times as a child, but because she feels guilty when her cousin talks about having to take care of him in addition to her four children, she volunteers to be his nurse -and maid, and cook- if only for the summer. 

 

It's only fair. She doesn't have any kids to take care of all day for two months. 

Because she doesn't have anyone. Period.

 

In the quiet of her two room apartment, she usually spends her free time fixing things, taking care of her plants, and cooking. 

 

Summer ends up arriving and now she has to spend all of her time with Obi, a man she came to visit a few times before summer break only to have him constantly groan and grumble and bitch about the "criminal" next door. 

 

"Good for nothing Solo got out of prison"

"...sooo, we live next to an alcoholic now..."

"Such a walking disappointment, I pity his mother. "

"...ever since his father left he's been a waste of space."

 

She finds his obsession for their neighbor ridiculous, to say the least. Laughable. He's an old man though, she wouldn't pointlessly try to convince him of that. 

 

She doesn't hate the house. The garden is actually nice, the place rather quiet. Her grand-father seems to have less and less to say about the Solos. 

 

Until one day he tells her during dinner:

 

"Have you seen that poor idiot, walking around in his backyard?"

 

Because she usually has very little interest in what he has to say about anything, she fails to understand who he's talking about, her brain in a haze. 

 

"Who, Obi ?" she asks quietly. 

 

That annoys him to no end. 

 

"Who do you think ? Fucking Solo." He chews furiously. "Dumb as a brick. He walks around his backyard for hours." 

 

She pinches the bone of her nose between her eyes and sighs in silence, before commenting with a small, tired voice:

"...does he now."

 

She wants to say to him she couldn't care less about the brick living next door. 

But she actually would never dare.

She just stays quiet. Waits it out. 

 

It's a beautiful, beautiful day when she sees said brick for the first time. He's not in his backyard.

 

He's in his bedroom, walking around in circles, holding a towel over his shoulders. 

And she... really doesn't care. He looks like yet another unhappy person. 

 

Only when she goes reading at her bedroom window while Obi's napping, two hours during the day that she has to herself, only then does she see him outside. 

 

At first, she can't look away because she notices how he seems to pay attention to put his feet exactly at the same spots in the grass for each circle he does, as if there were marks only he could see.

 

His hands are in his pockets. He's frowning.  

 

Then, she can't look away because she sees the bracelet on his ankle. That's maybe the only thing her grand-father hasn't told her about the brick. 

All of a sudden his lion-in-a-cage-like behavior makes a lot more sense. 

 

She tells herself she'll watch him until he goes inside to determine how long he does this; that she's curious to know what's the longest time he will do this. 

 

Fifty-two minutes is her answer. 

 

He runs his hand in his hair repeatedly, then puts it in front of his mouth, like he's deliberating about something but the cyclic nature of his movements actually betrays what must be... a disorganized way of thinking ? 

... a mess, really.

 

 

He's always wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and so she's aware of how muscular he is very soon.

Those are the limbs of a person who spends time at the gym -although not him, obviously - but the way his muscles are defined makes her sense he's lost some weight. 

People don't eat that well in prison she supposes. 

 

 

 

It's disarming to see such a tall, broad shouldered, sturdy-looking grown man manifest in all those little ways evidence of his fragility. 

The kind of fragility people easily accuse her of.

 

She can't look away for a lot of reasons. 

 

But mainly, she just can't look away.


	6. Kenobi's nap

 

 

He waits a few days to see if there's a chance she's gonna work up the courage to come on her own, without him having to summon her. 

 

She doesn't. 

 

He tries his best not to give in the probability that it's not because she's not bold enough, but because she might actually simply not give a shit about him. And it's not an easy task.

 

He's laying down on the couch arms crossed and eyes in the distance, the sky still luminous enough in the evening to cast a faint blue on him through the bay window of the living room, when his mother comes home. 

 

He doesn't move an inch. 

 

Until a little old notebook lands on his stomach. "Here", he hears his mother say. 

He looks up, and sees she's waiting expectantly. 

 

"What's that", he says.  

 

"You wanted Kenobi's number ? You have it."

 

He goes back to look toward the window. 

 

"I won't need it", he says in too dry a manner to let his mother perceive the actual sadness underneath.

She sighs sharply and rolls her eyes, taking the notebook back. 

"I'll just leave it near the phone if you ever do."

 

The next day around eleven in the morning, he stops by his window to watch children play on their bikes just in front of his house, and he ends up muttering to himself:

"Fucking kids. Go play somewhere else. "

He's not ready to deal with how he misses biking just by seeing them. In fact, he bets if he wasn't in this fucking house all day long he wouldn't miss it, he'd take a walk or something, he wouldn't give a fuck about bikes. 

 

It's in the middle of that thought that he sees her. 

 

She's walking on the curb on the other side of the street, a package in her hands. She walked to the post office ?

It doesn't feel right to watch her like this anymore, and he's about to get up when he catches it just in time.

Just when she's at his house level, she slows down her steps, hesitant to do so, looking in the direction of the house, and then stops. 

She stays there ten seconds. Certainly not more than that.

And then slowly, head slightly down, resumes her walking toward Kenobi's house.  

 

 

The old man is the one who answers the phone when Ben calls. 

"Hi, Mr Kenobi. Ben Solo."

That's all it takes for Kenobi to hang up. 

Nothing to be surprised about. 

 

He better not call just at any time or Kenobi will disconnect the phone rather than risk talking to him again, and so he figures he should wait. 

He's in his room around two in the afternoon when he decides to call back. 

The phone is at his ear and it's ringing when he sees by the window, too late, that she's hanging laundry in the garden. 

He's about to hang up when she looks down and pulls a phone out of the pocket of the apron she's wearing. 

 

"Hello ?" he hears on the other end of the phone.

No time to let his hammering heart get the better of him.

 

"Hello Rey, it's Ben."

 

Her back's turned to him, so he doesn't see her face when she asks:  

 

"Ben ?"

 

Right. He never told her his name. 

"Solo. Ben Solo." 

 

He doesn't hear anything, but what he sees is telling enough. She's pacing all of a sudden, head down, touching her necklace nervously, putting a strand of hair behind her ear. 

 

"Yes", she says finally with a small voice. "Yes, hello."

 

"I'm so sorry to bother you, but I needuuhhh...."

_Shit_. He looks around the room. 

 

"A pillow."

 

He pauses, before asking again with more confidence "I was wondering if you had one to spare ?" 

 

There's a long silence.

 

"...A pillow ?" she repeats. 

 

"Yes." He pauses again. "I'd come to you but you do remember my situation right ?", he asks, hoping what he's referring to will disarm her enough to just give in. 

 

And it does.

 

"Yes, yes I do", she hurries to reply. "I... I'll come by later."

 

"Thank you Rey. You're an angel."

 

When she's on his doorstep, a light pink pillow in her hands, he doesn't even bother mentioning it and barely takes the time to say hello before stepping aside and opening the door for her to come inside.

 

"Please come in."

 

She diligently does so without a question, the sweetheart. He takes the pillow from her hands and lets her follow him in the living room, where he tosses it on one of the two couches. On top of a bunch of other pillows. 

He gestures to a chair nearby for her to sit, and sits in another one right across from her, torso forward and elbows on his knees, and just _stares_. 

 

He sees the beginning of a blush creep on her neck but she swallows it down, and asks tentatively, in a way that suggests she's not that interested in the answer, but rather is trying to engage the conversation: 

 

"Uh... Why... why'd you need a pillow ?"

 

He looks at her and says dully, without even blinking: 

"To sleep on."

 

Her eyelids flutter. She just can't look at him in the eyes, _can she_ ? 

 

He asks: "You take the phone with you whenever you're outside ?"

 

Okay so, there it is this time. All over her face. Her temples, her cheeks, her ears. It's red beyond belief. He almost feels bad. Almost.

She must be recalling her reaction in the garden when he told her who he was.

 

She barely manages to get the word out: "... how... ?"

 

"I saw you from my bedroom window", he states simply. 

 

She silently struggles to regain control over her emotions for a few seconds, her blush fading slightly, then says:

" _Ah_... yes, I take it with me... so I can answer quickly. Obi--my grand-father naps in the afternoon."

 

_Noted_. 

 

He can't torture her for long, or he will never get her to come back here, so he lets the rest of the quiet conversation they end up having go smoothly, without actively trying to make her blush. He senses she relaxes ever so slightly. 

 

At some point she checks the time. Because Kenobi's nap must be over, he walks her back to the front door.

She's barely out when he asks with what he hopes is a casual tone:

 

"See you tomorrow ? "

 

He braces himself for what could very possibly be a big misunderstanding.

But she looks up at him, swallows, and nods. Not that confident a nod -although more than what could ever be expected from her- but his heart still skips a beat, because he sees the shyest smile sneak up on her sweet lips.

 

He doesn't even bother to try keeping from beaming at her.

 

She blushes.

Obviously. 

 

 

 


	7. Cold pizza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read each comment like that's the only thing life is about, just for you information
> 
> Please enjoy this new update I wrote with only your happiness in mind

 

The next day, he waits.

They didn't talk about a specific hour, and even if the afternoon has just started Ben's already afraid she won't come after all. Either she's just too apprehensive, or she didn't dare to speak her mind when he invited her to come back. 

 

It took so little time for him to depend so much on that woman's decisions. 

He doesn't know if he terribly likes that.

 

He has to actually remind himself that _she's_ the one who was spying on him in the first place.

Although that doesn't do a whole lot for him in the end.

He's still waiting for that visit like a dog for his treat.  

 

The doorbell rings.

 

Slowly, very slowly, he walks toward it, and the reason why he does so, reason he won't get into, is because he suspects he's so anxious for her to be on the other side of that door that he's not gonna be able to handle it if she isn't.

 

If Jehovah's witnesses are on his doorstep, for instance, there's just no chance he won't lose it. 

And he's on probation, he has to be careful about those things. 

 

He does open the door, very slowly still, almost holding his breath - _the idiot_. 

 

 

...She's twisting her hands.

 

Without even saying hello, she goes: "I can leave, if you're not...if, _if you're busy_."

 

That's the most someone could ever respect him nowadays, in his situation. No one on earth would ever tell him that, if they knew what she knows of him. 

 

His blood pressure drops mercifully, just in time for him to be able to articulate with a deadpan expression: 

 

"I _am_  busy, actually. I planned on pacing my room for three more hours but here you are I guess." 

 

Her eyes can't get wider than that.

There's no way the irony of what he said went over her head, but he figures her nervousness in social interactions must be the kind to ruthlessly make her second-guess every interpretation she has of the world around her, and of what the people in it do and say. 

He senses this, yet he already knows it just _won't_ be the last time he does this.

 

He's an evil asshole. 

 

He steps aside and wordlessly opens the door wider, then looks at her, waiting for that to confirm to her that yes, that was a joke. 

Once the door's closed, he immediately offers her food. 

 

Not knowing yet that he's about to be a good boy and do that _every day_ for the following three weeks.

 

 

It's an unspoken agreement that goes on with a very precise organisation they put into place without ever mentioning it. 

 

She arrives around two, so he's exempted from wondering if she will indeed come after that first time; then leaves at four. 

 

The first few days she doesn't stay that long. Obviously she's not the kind to ever overstay in any situation.

As days pass by, though, he ends up trying to refrain from rejoicing shamelessly in the fact that she keeps on saying she should go and for some random excuse always extends her visit of five little minutes. It's a sign he almost misses because her shyness, meanwhile, doesn't get that much better.

He wishes he could say it does, but it doesn't.

She gets in, always like she shouldn't, and he serves her a plate. 

He adds things to his mother's grocery list that have Leia wonder just where he puts all this food if he persists to barely eat. 

 _In his angel's mouth_ , _that's where_. 

Usually something sweet, although once he suggests cold pizza that she doesn't refuse, he hopes not because she doesn't dare to.

It comforts him to watch her eat for some reason. She -sort of- becomes used to eating without him ever eating with her.

He finds he has to stubbornly shut up for her to feel at ease enough to form several complete sentences in a row. If he ever so much as interrupt to comment about what she's saying, she _will_ kill her train of thoughts and leave him the whole stage. 

And she's a fucking teacher. 

That's just gotta be a lie. 

 

And then, in the middle of all of this, there are the challenges he secretly throws at himself.

He _tries_ to be a good Christian, he really does, but it's beyond his control.

He doesn't do it too much a day, or he'd have to call 911, and he tells himself that's really generous of him, because he _can't get enough of it._

His favorite game is to simply make her blush the hardest in the shortest amount of time. 

And granted he can hardly call that a challenge. His first attempts are pretty conclusive. 

 

"You have the prettiest mouth", he tells her one day, looking her in the eyes.

 

That alone knocks the air out of her lungs, and she struggles to get an "oh" out, followed by a breathy "Okay ?", a small word he still manages to interrupt rudely: 

 

"Wait. There's more."

 

He sees her wait for it, bracing herself. She  _can-not_ look at him. 

 

"I think about it. A lot."

 

There it is.

 _Jesus,_ that's a good one. 

 

Weirdly enough, he feels comfortable talking about his life as a teenager, and they get into the subject of school, about the fact that while he'd get good grades he had a hard time with authority and would always be in detention. He recovers from the irony of that confession in the light of his present situation by swiftly saying in a playful tone: 

 

"But _hey_ , I got better. Look who's the teacher's pet today." 

 

And to say that he wasn't even trying this time, realizing only afterwards the amplitude of the blow he just gave her, as it's almost if her _hands_ redden.  

 

A year of celibacy should have distressed him but strangely enough there's nothing he wanted less when he got out than to try and get laid, not to even mention go on a date or flirt with anyone.

  
And boy if that hasn't changed dramatically over the span of a few days.

 

 

 

She blushes so easily and so deeply he doesn't know if he can handle it, it makes him hard just to look at her, even more so knowing she's gotta be aware she's blushing, and how is that not making her blush even more ? 

Fuck, it's adorable. 

 

He systematically concludes each of her visits by: "See you tomorrow ?" And she's less and less nervous to accept the invitation, until much sooner than anticipated he actually _doesn't have to say it anymore_. She's never late, and she doesn't run to the door when she has to go. She does what no one in his family, or among the people he called friends before prison, ever take the time to do.

 

 

 

 

Which is why he's slightly shaken when from one day to the next, she just stops coming. 

 

 

 

 


	8. A bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST ANGST ANGST, GIVE ME ALL OF THE ANGST

The first day she doesn't come, he keeps his cool. 

Three weeks is enough time to have him trust that she has a good reason not to come if she doesn't.

He pushes deep, deep down the thought that she'd warn him though, one way or another, about her absence. 

He shows patience, lets the day go by, the silent hours be spent, that first day alone in three weeks being a violent curtain call of the loneliness his days were all about before her visits.

 

The second day, he _worries_  about her. 

He wants to call, is about to several times, but he's afraid that if she _is_ alright and just hasn't come yet because she _does_ have reasons, she won't appreciate a bunch that he can't remain without her for forty-eight little hours. 

 

That small contrariety on its own is a nightmare to endure. 

 

So he does the only thing he can really do, and sits for several hours at his window. 

 

And he sees her, at last. For better or for worse.

 

She gets out for less than a minute total, to pick up two towels that are hanging at the back of Kenobi's backyard, with ever so careful steps. 

 

She's fine. Nothing happened to her. 

 

From that moment, he starts to steadily set free one by one every fear he tried to muffle the past two days. 

 

Mainly it just gets _really_ hard not to think she hasn't, in fact, just had about enough of seeing his face. 

 

That wasn't something he could have anticipated, having everything turned upside down on that simple thought of her being tired of him, but it makes sense that she'd be just that, doesn't it ? He's gotta use his brain and understand for good that there hasn't been any pact between them, no sort of contract of any kind for her to keep coming _just because_.

That reality doesn't keep him from thinking back at each and every word he said, every moment they shared to try and determine what he's done wrong.

 

He's tempted to consider the possibility the answer is everything. He did everything wrong.

 

What was it ? Him making her come to his door like a dog he threw toys for so she'd fetch them ? His invasive stare, his lack of tact in everything he does ? 

Or was it that he constantly came onto her, couldn't possibly let her enjoy her afternoons without embarrassing her away ? 

 

It's rather tough to pick a single reason, he'd say. 

 

He's spiraling down. Down, down.

 

Down the fucking toilet. 

 

He doesn't dare to call because he wouldn't know what to say. He made it so clear, so evident already that he wants her there with him, that her not coming anymore can only be a deliberate choice, and not the result of any sort of misunderstanding. 

 

He could maybe wait for her to be in her garden ?  To directly ask her ?

But if she does want to avoid him, how will that be of any service to her or to him ? 

The poor mouse would never stand to face him. If he's going to take a hint, it's gotta be from her. 

 

It seems only more likely by the hour to him she felt obligated to say yes all along.

 

All of a sudden his nights of insomnia and his days of hunger strike are starting to weigh heavy on him. He feels like the bear at the zoo that's been separated from his friend and starts to act up with the staff.

He can't even bring himself to as much as give the shadow of a smile when Leia jokes about Diego, asking how he's doing, Diego being what she decided to call his ankle monitor, back when she wal already attempting to lighten the mood. 

 

She then asks him if he's gonna eat and if he is if he could eat with her this time and not alone in his bedroom while she's downstairs ? 

He only says: "No, Leia. I'm not hungry."

She doesn't even try and act like she's disappointed. She expects him to be like that now. 

 

 

The third day he projects himself forward, imagining spending the rest of the summer and the following months without ever seeing her again and it sets off a wave of panic in his chest.

 

He doesn't think he'll be able not to make one last attempt after all. 

 

There's a wicker basket in the corner of the very small terrace he accesses by the living room bay window. It's quite large, and has a good amount of nonsense in it: there are wooden clothespins, little bags of expanded clay for gardening, a pair of yellow flip-flops and a red plastic canteen, among other things. 

 

He drops it all on the floor, and goes to the palisade with the wicker basket in hand, full enough of resolution to walk there without hesitation, until he raises his arm and stops mid-air, second-guessing this choice. 

He can't bring his arm down, can't either bring himself to follow through just yet. He's frozen, for less than five seconds, basket in the air, his eyes searching the space in front of him for a sign this is worthy of being called a strategy. 

It's not, it's hardly a strategy. 

 

But the thing is he finds there's more to consider; because his eyes lift up under god knows what spell, to Kenobi's first floor right window. 

 

The brightness of the sun makes it difficult to make out her shape behind the glass, but that's not the reason he needs to keep his eyes on it. He stays frozen, his eyes on her, because she's looking at him, both hands on the curtain without pulling it, like she was about to close it when she saw him. 

The whole thing lasts a few seconds at most, with them looking at each other, his arm in the air. 

He feels his face relax. She's not moving, still looking at him.

 

He takes a step back, and throws the basket on the other side. 

 

He turns to face her a bit better if only for a moment, looking up at her. He expects her to close the curtain on him, but it appears it's her turn to be frozen. 

 

Ultimately he swallows, and forces himself to lower his gaze.

He stands there a few seconds more, his fists at his sides, chewing the inside of his cheek absentmindedly.

 

Barely three weeks ago, it was just the easiest thing to do. 

When had all of this gotten this serious ?  

 

Head slightly down, he turns, and walks back inside. 

 

 

He's not stupid enough, from that moment on, to wait for something that won't happen, to count on her bringing that back. 

 

The only thing he's got to wait for now, is for him to maybe someday be able not to think about her. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’m self-sufficient. I spend a lot of time on my own and I shut off quite easily. When I communicate, I communicate 900 per cent. 
> 
> Then I shut off, which scares people sometimes.” 
> 
> -Bjork-


	9. Wild rabbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.” 
> 
> ― George Bernard Shaw

 

He should clean the kitchen, and he will. His mother made a remark about it as he was taking the stairs to go to his room last night. He didn't forget.

Whenever chores are involved Leia never asks him directly to do them. She just states: "The kitchen needs cleaning."

"I won't have the time to make dinner."

"I put my clothes in the washing machine, if you want to add yours."

And he just mentally takes note, and does them.

It's not that she doesn't dare to order him around when she wants to, because she does, of course she does.

She doesn't ask him directly when it comes to chores because she thinks she should never _have_ to ask him, that he should know on his own what needs to be done, like a grown adult. And she's right.

So not only does he stay quiet and get to work, but it's almost efficient in making him feel guilty.

Especially in his situation where all he has to do all day is walk around, stand around or lay around.

  
He wonders how domestic life would be like with Rey. She wouldn't dare ask him to do anything, but not at all for the same reasons. He would always have to make sure everything's done, to be certain she wouldn't secretly resent him for not being invested enough. Because she wouldn't dare express any bad feelings either. 

... life would be awful with her. 

 

He runs a hand across his face, tired of himself.

 

 

He folds the laundry first, because he unloaded the tumble drier in the morning to then let everything sit on the table. 

Then he opens the fridge to empty it, because he knows it's in need of a cleaning. And his mother didn't hint at that, so he's really proud of himself for taking the initiative. 

"Real fucking proud", he mutters aloud. 

 

He takes what's in the fridge door out, then stops. 

 

On the second shelf of the fridge is box of mini violet cream puffs. There's four left in it. 

He made his mother buy that at a bakery in town. He wasn't sure they still made them.

 

Leia eats a whole lot, with great appetite, but she's horrified at the idea of eating anything sweet. She abhors sugar, hates the taste.

 

That's not the case with Rey.

She'd go blind for a cake, he'd discovered that quite quickly.

 

 

He works his jaw, the box in his hand.

Then walks over to the trash, puts his foot on the pedal to open it, and stops just as the box is about to be dropped to jerk his head up.

  

Because there's been a knock at the door. 

 

He blinks a few times, box still in hand, then his eyes turn to the kitchen clock. 

It's five past two. 

 

He withdraws his foot from the pedal, the lid falling back down. 

 

He's trying to regain control on his breathing, especially since he knows she never knocks.

She always, always rings the bell. 

 

 

Because _yeah_ , he's attuned to her to a Pavlovian level already. Obviously. 

 

He also knows that he should actually hurry because if it _is_ her, she won't knock twice. 

So he puts down the box.

And opens the goddamn door. 

 

She's standing at a good distance from him, a few feet further than she usually did the last times he opened the door on her. 

It's a shock to see it's indeed her. Not a good shock. 

Because of the way she's twisting her hands, even if she does that a lot, for all kinds of reasons, the way her lips press together, the small frown on her forehead, not one of anger but still, he immediately senses she came here to tell him to stop his bullshit. 

 

Since she can't manage to talk right away, he's quick to imagine what's about to happen. 

She's about to stutter something along the line of "If it's no trouble for you, please stop throwing shit in my backyard, please leave me alone", and he really should speak before her to spare her that effort, to acknowledge right away that he's got no right and that he _will_ back off.

 

He should, but he can only stare. He's unable of speaking a single word.

 

Neither is she, for maybe a good ten seconds, until she starts a breathy stutter:

"I... I'm sorry."

 

That, that's the start of a break-up, to him.

 

Her eyes are shiny. He catches that detail despite her looking from him to somewhere on the wall, and back to him and back to the wall. 

He just stands there, hand on the door.

He's not ready for what he's about to hear. 

 

"I thought, maybe you... you didn't want to see me anymore."

 

Just with those few words, his head's buzzing. He narrows his eyes despite himself. 

_What._

_What did she say ?_

 

She doesn't see that, her eyes going from one point to the next as she's working up the strength to admit what must only be a horrifying confession given the time it takes which is really _too much time_ , 

 

How ? _How ?_

He thought a thousand times about what he said or did to her, and if there's a single thing he didn't do is let her believe he wanted her gone.

He only wants to ask her immediately, but he knows better, because if he opens his mouth there's no chance she won't back down and he'll never get to the bottom of this.

 

He has to stay still and perfectly silent, as if to not startle a wild rabbit.

She's cleared her throat three times now, while trying not to make too much noise doing so. 

 

"You, you... you'd always say--"

 

She swallows. " _See you tomorrow,_ before I'd leave. Like... every time when I'd leave."

 

He's holding his breath.

 

This is a joke.

 

"And then you--"

She shakes her head, like she's trying to find the right word. 

"... you stopped. You'd say it every day, and one day... You stopped saying it."

 

He's not able to keep in a sharp exhale. He opens his eyes, because apparently at some point he bowed his head a bit and closed them.

He clenches his jaw to keep from interrupting her. 

 

"So, I just. I thought... maybe, you wanted me to--"

She takes in some air. She does need some, by the look of it. 

"I thought, maybe I should... maybe skip a day ?"

 

Her eyes are cast back toward the ground. The words seem to get out more easily that way, to her credit.

 

"But then...the next day, I, didn't dare to come back... I wasn't sure you'd want me to, because I thought maybe if you'd have wanted me to, you... you would have... you would have called."

 

 

He's screaming inside.

He hopes she won't catch his white knuckled hold he has on the door, because she won't understand what's happening.

 

"And", she starts again, but stops, lifting her eyes at him. A short silence.

"I wish I could invite you at my house, for a change."

 

He hopes his heart won't melt through his fucking nose.

 

She whispered that, like there's a baby asleep next to them.

 

"Why ?" He says finally. "You don't like mine ?"

 

"No no, I like it." And of course she would answer seriously to that. She even adds:

 

"Just... so I wouldn't _bother you_."

 

 

 

He missed that. He really, _really_ missed that.

 

 

 

He's blinking a few times his head down, slowly shaking his head in disbelief at the situation. 

When he puts his eyes on her again, he states dryly:

 

"You didn't bring the basket back."

 

She jerks her head up. 

 

"Oh", she breathes. Then she's turning to go. 

 

" _Rey_."

 

"Yes ?" she goes, turning back to him with wide eyes.

 

" _I'm kidding._ "

 

"Oh." 

 

He's not gonna refrain from smiling, even as she seems completely unable to do so just yet. Too many emotions at once. 

 

He steps aside. 

 

Opening the door for her.

 

 


	10. Knee-jerk reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... porn, porn, porn, give me all of the porn ? 
> 
> Less appealing a catchphrase, I suppose.
> 
> ... still what you gon' get though
> 
>  
> 
> Also, that's a long-ass chapter ahead compared to the other ones (more than four times their length, sorry about that)
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy <3

 

Inside, Ben lets her follow him to the kitchen where he sits on a stool. He's happy but he needs to sit for a few minutes. 

The box is there on the counter, so he opens it for her, and she starts eating standing up next to him without a word, without even saying "thank you", which is telling enough of the rawness of the emotions she just went through because she's the most polite person he's ever met. The box is on the upper part of the counter; it reaches the middle of his chest when he's standing up, but for her it reaches just above her shoulders; still she doesn't sit on a stool. She's shoving the cream puffs in her mouth without caring about being graceful, and that alone shows just how far she's come with him. 

"I can't help but feel like you don't like those" he deadpans.

"No, I do", she assures quietly. 

There's no chance he's ever going to get tired of her answering seriously to every ironic comment he throws at her.

The few times he's made a joke -outside of all the times he's been sarcastic or ironic and she didn't take notice-, and maybe because his sense of humor systematically translates into a straight face, she's never laughed. She always looks up at him as if she needed to make sure first that _he_ was aware he made a joke. 

One day they're talking -or rather he's talking- about movies, and she mentions one she hasn't seen yet. So that he would know which one she's talking about, she lists the cast. Among others, Ryan Gosling's in it.

Does he see which one she's talking about ? 

He doesn't care to answer honestly to that question because an old habit of mispronouncing very famous names that he's had since highschool comes back to him as instinctive as breathing and he says: 

 

"Oh _yeah..._  I know all about Brian Gasoline."

 

She stays as serious as a priest, just looks at him to check if there's gonna be more, then goes on talking in short sentences about the movie. 

He's not gonna tell her _hey, it was a joke_ because he knows damn well she knows it is. It's almost like she won't laugh at his jokes unless he laughs at them too. 

He hopes it won't stay like that but he's also enjoying it so much. In that same spirit he makes his best efforts to slip at every opportunity he has sayings or expressions while subtly or not so subtly changing them, to see if she's gonna notice, and if she does, to revel in the fact that she never, never _ever_  corrects him. No matter to what length he goes. 

That's how he manages to place at some point during their afternoons together without her batting an eye:

"It takes three to salsa"

"I guess you can't judge a magazine by its pictures"

"What can I say, I like to play devil's district attorney." 

 

But sometimes she does fail to understand he's joking, because she corrects him, and he always makes sure to put on an enlightened expression, like he just understood something for the first time, before nodding "right, _right right_."

 

 

She's licking her fingers now, and _that_ , she tries to do discreetly. 

 

If she only knew. 

 

He can get aroused just by thinking her name now -she doesn't even know. Sucking gently on her fingers head low in the hope she doesnt make too much noise, glancing at him in shyness because he's watching is certainly not gonna do anything to help that. 

 

Given what happened, he knows how to proceed next. He's learned his lesson, he's learned it good. She's about to see just how much.

She still hasn't perched herself on a stool, just standing there, getting the rest of the sweet left on her tongue to go down her throat. She does look at him when he finally speaks.

 

"You know... one thing I've noticed about you is how tense you are."

 

Anyone would have laughed at the obviousness of that statement, but not her. Too nervous to spot irony.

 

She hums a small, high pitched "Mmh ?" at him.

 

His eyes betray his urge to smile when he says:

"If you want I know of a way that can help you relax a little."

 

But if he had the shadow of a smirk on his lips, if his eyes were a touch malicious a second ago, he's only dead dead, _dead serious_ when he asks her in a soft, yet warning low voice :

 

_"Do you know what I'm talking about, Rey ?"_

 

Her breathing hitches slightly but he's surprised to hear she just states:

 

"Yes." 

 

He nods slowly, quietly at that. 

"Good", he says, then lower to himself: "That's good."

 

She's not moving at all now, against what must be all her instincts to flee. He lets himself down the stool, and gets close to her. She doesn't flinch.

 

Which is a good thing. And also, not good at all.

 

He hasn't touched her yet, so he refrains from doing so, and asks softly: 

 

"Rey ?"

 

"Yes ?" she breathes.

 

"Would you like to touch me first for a bit without me touching you?"

 

She shakes her head, like she doesn't want to be of any trouble: "Uh, no, _it's okay_."

 

"No you don't want to touch me ?" he feigns to ask for confirmation. 

 

"Uh, no, I do !" she hurries to correct with wide eyes.

 

"Oh good."

 

And just like that, he stares at her, and just waits, standing less than two feet away from her, arms at his sides.

 

There's just the faint singing of birds outside to cut the silence along with her quiet breathing she's trying to steady.

 

She doesn't do anything for a good minute, only daring to glance toward him before lowering her gaze again.

 

He's not moving at all and he doesn't intend to do so before she does, so he hopes she'll find the courage to even try, because for a moment he thinks it's never gonna happen.

 

But it does. She's gently, with only the tips of her fingers, pulling on his hand to bring it in front of her.

 

His could swallow hers, but he makes a point in avoiding closing it on her, so she gets confirmation that he indeed won't move not one bit. 

 

She doesn't look at him while he only looks at her face, despite it being a bit down.

 

She then slowly and barely brushes her thumb along his forearm, then lets it go, as if she didn't want to be too greedy.

 

She has no idea what he's got in store for her.

 

It takes for her to take his other arm, run a shy hand on his bicep and shoulder, to be able to get to his chest. At the way she runs both her hands on it, even if still tentatively, it seems it's what she wanted to touch from the start. His chest rises and falls a bit less evenly under her touch.

He lets her do her thing for maybe three minutes. She doesn't once get to his face because she can't hold his gaze. But ever so slightly she got closer to him, whether she realized it or not.

 

It's so subtle and gradual then when she stands on her toes, that he doesn't understand that she's trying to put her lips against his until she pulls very gently on his shirt. He once again almost misses it, but ends up getting the message. She'd have already kissed him by now, he's just too tall.

 

To fuck with her, he straightens up.

 

When she slowly goes back down on her heels at that, mouth imperceptibly frowning from pure distress his heart breaks _right away_ , caught at his own game; that's too cruel a joke even by his standards, and he hastens to bend down and put a tender peck at the corner of her mouth.

He certainly didn't expect such a simple touch to make his ribcage jolt. It's a foreign thing to have her breath warm against his cheek even for just two seconds and he only wants to get to do it more.

It's apparent that she's relieved, not only that he did kiss her but also that he did it the way she intended for it to happen. 

 

But she knows better than to expect he'll leave it at that. They're not done.

 

He straightens back up to indicate to her she can resume her touching for some more without him intervening.

But she blinks a few times, looks elsewhere all of a sudden, he realizes it's because she saw he was hard through his shorts.

 

 _"I'm sorry"_ , he says flatly, not meaning it one bit.

 

She actually tries to reassure him, the sweet girl, and breathes: "No, it's okay."

 

"Oh you're fine with it?"

 

She nods, swallowing. They're so close now. 

 

All of this is really nice, but he's not a saint. He's been restless inside for the past ten minutes.

 

His voice is softer than ever when he asks her before trying anything:

 

"You would tell me if you wanted me to stop, right, Rey ?"

 

"Yes", she agrees.

 

He's thrilled to hear that sole word, but he goes on anyway:

"I'm still worried you might not, so I'm gonna ask you clearly before I do anything."

 

He inhales deeply before adding: "I promise it's not just because I anticipate with great excitement that you'll blush the shit out of those cheeks."

 

Sure enough, she blushes at that.

 

"You're ready ?" he asks her, as if he didn't have her full attention. It's not the easiest thing to catch, but her breathing is quite shaky.

 

"Yes", she nods. 

 

"Rey ?"

 

"Yes ?" 

 

"Can I... put my lips on what I suspect is... likely to be the prettiest pussy there is ?"

 

It goes from her hairline to the tip of her ears all down to what he gets to see of her collarbone, which isn't much but he'd bet his life it went to blossom all over her chest too. The pinkest pink of all. That's a catatonic level of nervousness he caused her to feel.

 

"Don't forget to breathe", he recommends. 

 

But then this is also too serious to only take lightly, so he asks:

 

"Do you want to leave Rey ?"

 

There's a second of hesitation before he hears "No", and that just won't do, so he asks again:

 

"You sure ?"

 

"Yes" she says more quickly. 

 

"You want to stay here with me ?"

 

"Yes, I do" she says just as quickly, closing her eyes for one second.

 

"Alright."

 

He parts from her, and hears her sigh faintly as a result as he turns to carefully remove one by one the things on the counter to put them aside, taking his time. A fruit bowl with no fruit in it, a bottle of water, keys, two local newspapers. 

She watches him do, arms at her sides, clueless. 

 

He then goes to stand at the end of it. "Can you come here ?"

 

"Why ?" she asks probably as a reflex, but he's still happy she does.

 

"So I can sit you on the counter."

 

She doesn't know where to look at, yet there they are: the smallest, most cautious, cutest steps of all, bringing her to him. 

He lets her get real close, and finally puts his hands at her waist, stopping to ask:

"May I ?"

 

She nods, eyes down. 

 

She gasps sharply as he lifts her up, and puts her on the counter. Her hips are at the level of his chest now, her knees together, touching him. Despite having the upper hand in towering over him now, she doesn't know where to look at. At all.

 

It's like he put her there to have a better view of the room. 

 

That just gets him to smile. 

 

"You didn't answer my question."

 

She looks at him then for a second. 

 

"Can I ?"

 

He doesn't need to repeat the question for her to know what he's talking about. She nods quite energetically, although still looking everywhere but him. Her fists are clenched on her lap.

 

She's wearing white tennis shoes. He's taking his time taking them off, knowing it gives him an excuse to touch her feet, her ankles, so she has a first sense of his touch in a place she's never had it. 

 

When he slides his hand on the inside of her left calf though, grazing his nails up to her knee, he gets a small jumpy kick from her to his ribs with the top of her foot, caused by nervousness alone.  

 

"Sorry !" she hastily exhales. 

 

He doesn't even lift his head up to her, his eyes fixed on her skirt as if to not take his eyes away from the target or it'll fly, parting her knees more: "You better be sorry. That's gonna bruise."

 

As per usual, she doesn't take into account his irony and lets out another small "sorry" at that. 

Both his hands are on her knees now, and he only slides the first knuckles under the skirt before raising his head up to her:

 

"Reeey ?"

 

"Yes ?"

 

"Do you wanna take your hands off your skirt, so I can pull it up and see what's underneath ?"

 

He sees her swallow before letting out a raspy: _"Uh-uh"_ , nodding.

 

She takes her hands off, the right one trembling a little, to put them on each sides of her hips, and waits, arms tightly at her sides.

 

Finally, the skirt's pushed up her thighs. 

 

He's so moved just to see her white panties that he tries to regulate his breathing and actually has to step back a bit, to take in the situation.

 

"...Lay down, sweetheart, go ahead" he tells her, eyes not leaving her underwear. 

 

She slowly reclines down to lie against the counter, biting on her lip. Now that's she's laying down the unevenness of her breathing is more obvious, as she's arched a bit which makes the movements of her chest more visible. She brings her hands to the hem of her top, holding tight.

She shudders when he puts her legs up his shoulders, caressing her thighs up and down in the process, bringing his face closer. Her thighs are rock hard on him. It's insane how she's contracting her muscles. He's aware that his hair brushing the inside of her thighs can only add to it. 

 

He didn't notice right away with the lack of light in the room, but a shadow at her center makes her arousal pretty apparent despite the thickness of the fabric. He's fully hard and he hasn't touched her yet.

 

He tries his best to refrain from doing so but fails, and goes to crush his mouth and nose against it, inhaling deeply through the fabric and causing her to immediately arch her back then buck against him, letting out two sharp ragged breaths she can't manage to keep in. 

 

He stands back a bit, eyes still on her panties, noisily licking the wetness off his lips, when she lets out yet another breathy "sorry".

 

His breathing has gotten a bit out of hand already, and he's almost out-of-breath when he says, pulling on the hem of her underwear finally, rolling it down her legs, mocking her bashfulness absentmindedly with a deep voice that comes from the lack of air:

"Me too, I'm sorry. _I'm so, so sorry_ " -he puts her legs back on his shoulders: "I'm sorry Lord for what I'm about to do, I am."

 

Just the sight causes such a strong burning feeling of relief in him that it seems he's being given a glass of water after days of thirst.

 

He goes back down, licking his lips once more, and breathes on her before deciding to go for the smallest peck on the middle of her folds.  

She jolts, her back arching up once again, then lets out a sigh as she comes back down.

That makes him encircle her hips with both his arms, pinning her down. 

 

No turning back. 

 

 

He laps at her, sucks left and right, almost as if he was grooming her, staying away from her clit. She tries really hard to bring her hips up against him, the balls of her feet pushing against his back. 

 

He's so distracted he's close to missing her panting at times, before she tries again to keep silent, but never for long. 

 

Very soon he doesn't even stop himself from humming against her like he's eating a good meal, in addition to the wet noises he releases in the silence of the house.

 

He lifts his eyes up to see she's hiding her face with both hands, all the while still bucking her hips against his hold. 

 

It makes his appetite that much bigger, and without warning, with the flat of his tongue he draws a long broad stride over her folds from her entrance to her clit, before latching onto said clit like a newborn baby on its mother's breast.

 

Her hands are away from her face _in a second_ to take a good grip of the counter on each side of her, as she gives him the most violent jerk of her hips yet with a sonorous " _Ugh !_ " that sends electricity right through his core.

 

His cock hurts beyond belief from wanting.

 

He has to do this for only a short amount of time before he starts to have a new respect for her body strength, her whole pelvis charging against him, then back down, then up again. She stopped saying "sorry" because all she can do now is let out strangled noises through her panting, which she also stopped trying to have control over. 

 

He can't drag it out any longer, he just can't -he's gotta fuck her and _soon,_ before he loses it. 

 

So he puts all he has into sucking, licking, fucking slurping what's there, as she _bucks and bucks and bucks_ her hips up, opening her thighs wider and wider with stunned gasps, like she would if the waves of an ice cold sea were lapping her belly, and _there she goes_ , fisting his hair and closing her thighs on the sides of his head, her back impossibly arched while she goes silent, the air stuck in her lungs. 

 

" _Uuhhhh_ " he hears as she comes down, her legs trembling, releasing his hair with shaky hands.

 

She's looking at the ceiling like it's a starry night sky.

 

"Everything good over there ?" he asks straightening back up, his lips swollen, his nose, chin and cheeks shiny with her arousal that he wipes off with the back of his hand. 

 

Her eyelids are half shut from the bliss as she goes: "...ugh."

 

He puts her back down on her wobbly legs, skirt still up her hips, as she's trying to remember how to walk when he says gesturing toward the couch:

 

"Go on angel. On your belly."

 

She walks there with the grace of a toddler. An obedient one, though. 

 

He follows right after, and as she lays down on the couch on her front, she's hiding the lower half of her face with her hand all the while eyeing him as he's taking off his shirt, then his shorts and briefs. 

 

He doesn't miss her eyes widening a bit and her temples blushing as she tightens her folded arms against her body, and he keeps from smiling at that, as he gives himself a few lazy strokes when he pauses to once more take in what he sees. 

When he gets on top of her, the couch creaks under his weight. She's back at being perfectly silent as he lets himself down on her, pressing his cock against her bare ass and his chest against her back. 

He's breathing a bit harder already against her ear.

 

"Hello."

 

"Hi", the sweet thing murmurs back, half muffled by the pressure of her cheek against the pillow, face red, very small strands of wet hair on her forehead, and breath short.

 

 

"Mind if I get in there ?"

 

 

She lets out a breathy " _no_ " that makes him chuckle. 

 

"No, you don't mind, do you sweetie ?" 

 

He brings up her right knee on her side, folding her leg up, and groans in her neck : "Alright then. I'll let myself in."

He feels her tense against him with a small "ah !" as soon as he slides his cock in the wetness of her folds, and he himself keeps his teeth clenched in anticipation. 

 

"Arch your back a bit sweetheart, go ahead."

  
She does so in a _heartbeat,_ allowing him to better place himself at her entrance, weighing on her. He might be crushing her a bit, but she seems to be rather fine with the situation, her breathing already hitching back up although she's once again trying to keep her lips hidden and sealed. 

 

"Theeere. That's perfect, _thank you_ ", he coos, putting a wet kiss on her cheek, feeling it burn under his lips at his praise. 

 

 As soon as he starts pushing in her, she closes her eyes hard and presses her lips together, and he would have believed he was hurting her if it wasn't for her pushing her ass against him, parting her legs under him. She whimpers.

He pauses, panting, and says against her ear with what can only be smugness:

 

"Yes, yes, I know, it's a bit big but don't worry baby it only wants what's best for you."

 

He lets her stretch around his head then asks again: "Do you want some more ?"

 

" _Gnnyes_ ", he hears her moan low, mouth half against the pillow. 

 

He chuckles: "Here, baby, whatever you want."

 

He pushes further, holding his breath, and she gasps, but very soon he's almost fully inside. 

" _Goooood_ that's good, _look at you_ ", he says with a growl, and she tries to muffle another moan at that, "Already you're taking me so good, so so good", he adds, as he sees her eyes shining, out of focus, breathing small cute moans against the pillow. He goes slow, _oh so slow_ , in and out, once again taking his time.

 

"Theeere... There, nice and slow..." He kisses her neck, her ear, then mutters: 

"Such a brave bird."

 

"Uh ?" she finally lets out in a sigh, strands of hair rising under her breath.

 

Without warning he snaps his hips sharply against her.

That should help her focus.

It gets a shocked " _OH_ " out of her, eyes well opened, before she goes back to biting her lip to keep from doing so again, but she's putting herself up for failure because before she knows it he repositions himself, fists clenched against the cushions at her sides; she feels his warmth against her back leave her, and he doesn't give her any more time to brace herself.

 

The strength he puts into his thrusts is barely gradual as he starts a series that ends up making her bounce against the couch to the rhythm of flesh slapping. She buries her face in the pillow, muffling her angry moans as he goes.

 

Because he slows down, she lifts up her head up to get some air, huffing, not expecting him to slap one cheek of her ass that gets her to produce the most high-pitched squeal of surprise. 

 

The blush he gets to see after that makes him feel like he hardens twice as much and that's just not possible. 

 

He kneads her ass cheek lazily, looking at her. 

 

She's hiding her face with her hand once more as he's speeding up the cadence of his thrusts again, groaning while she's trying to muffle more squeals. 

He lets himself back against her, panting, and goes back to an impossibly slow pace, as he asks with a ragged voice:

 

"Everything ok, Rey ?"

 

"Ugh !"

  
"Is that a yes ?"

 

"Yes !!" she croaks, and that's the loudest he's ever heard her.

 

He actually laughs against her, breathing hard: "Don't panic, I'm not going anywhere."

 

He slides a hand to her front, and starts drawing circles ever so slowly there. She strongly reacts to it in the second, writhing underneath him, bucking her hips, her hands grabbing at the couch.

 

"Look at you, shy bird. And to say you couldn't look me in the eyes", he tells her, out-of-breath. 

 

That earns him another blush.

 

He _loves_ how she's so obviously struggling to keep everything inside until finally he draws the smallest, most high pitched sounds there is out of her. 

 

He swears he's gonna fuck her bashfulness away.

 

He keeps his voice low against her ear and takes great care in ponctuating his words with regular, thorough thrusts, as shock settles on her face along with yet another blush:

 

"You're a sweet -- soft spoken, seventh grade teacher --who enjoys getting fucked _senseless_ "

 

"Mmh !!" she moans back.

 

Another thrust, harder than the others, before he asks: "Aren't you ?"

 

Because she doesn't answer, he uses his elbows for support, and picks up the pace, letting out through clenched teeth a ragged drawn out _"ooh, yeeeeesssss"_ , before asking once again:

 

 _"Aren't you,_ Rey ?"

 

It's barely high enough to catch, but she lets out under her breath a serie of puffs only cut off by his thrusts:

"... _yes -yes-yees-yees_..." 

 

He lets himself back against her, and licks a long stride at her neck with the flat of his tongue, giving into weird impulses, ending it in a wet kiss behind her ear. "Such a good girl", he murmurs at her ear. "How far you've come."

 

He finds her clit again, to her great joy.

She's much less self-conscious now about her moans already although she widens her eyes when she lets one out, surprised at her own sounds.

 

He's quick to follow her when she stiffens under him, her inner walls spasming around his cock. 

 

 

 

 

They have at least another hour before she has to return home. 

The sun is low enough to bathe them both in its light.

She turned under him, and his head is resting on her shoulder, almost at the base of her neck, his body still on her, fully naked.

She still has her top on. 

 

He's _digusting_ , because he should have got up right away and cleaned her, but he didn't, afraid to not get enough of her warmth before she leaves. He's clinging onto her, like a child, and has only her unusually even breathing to indicate she might not mind. 

 

He's already mad at himself for not being able to go get her the morning after pill, and is wondering if he's gonna go as far as to have his mother get it for him. 

 

What a fucking loser.

 

It's on that thought that in the silence of the house her voice sends vibrations through her chest to his cheek and ear:

 

"When do you get rid of your ankle monitor ?"

 

That's the most even she's ever spoken to him. 

 

He lifts his head up to look at her.

 

She's looking at the ceiling, eyelids half shut, like what she asked wasn't important.

 

He clears his throat, then stammers slightly, almost whispering: "I.. Mid-september."

 

She hums.

 

Then she cocks her head to look at him in the eyes. Her face as relaxed as can be, her gaze the most at peace he ever saw it. The certainty he sees in them, makes his heart race back again. He feels a bit shaken to see her like this, and before he can help it a shiver goes through him. 

She brings a hand at his cheek.

 

 

 

"What is it Ben ? 

 

 

... you're blushing."

 


	11. Normal people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yes. 
> 
> Yes. 
> 
> The chapter's count has gone up. 
> 
> Because you're evil people.
> 
> I can't fucking believe after saying "no" time and time again in the comment section, after saying I wouldn't write more than intended, that I'd only try and write oneshots on the side as a consolation prize but later, I can't believe that I'm actually doing all of this and more. 
> 
> God fucking damn it what is this power you have over me ?? Is this readership only counting witches ???
> 
> HERE, another update. I HOPE YOU'LL BE DISAPPOINTED, so I can have control over my life again.
> 
>  
> 
> ... but for real, on the low, I hope you're well though

_EDIT: Here, have a poorly made **[moodboard](https://plantsandlamps.tumblr.com/post/178456724157/well-at-least-i-tried-moodboard-for-house) ** ^^_

 

 

He knows he's clean. 

 

He had a scare a year before prison that lead to a complete check-up, and made him act like an actual adult for the months that followed. 

That common sense has gone through the window with Rey apparently. 

Maybe the person who needs him to be an adult the most. 

He can't help but feel she's clean too though, although that's definitely not something you _feel_. But if one struggles as much as she does to even look at anyone speaking directly to her, the chances for her having had a myriad of partners are pretty slim, and from the look of it her sense of responsability seems to extend to the most ridiculous things, since she, _oh yeah that's right_ , brought back a watering can to his door when she found it in her garden instead of just letting it rot like the next person would have done.

So he'd guess her health is one of her top priorities. Just a hunch he has. 

But then again, she didn't say anything this afternoon. 

 

He knows he's clean, but she doesn't know that. 

 

He doesn't have any test results to show her, and he can't take a test, not before weeks. 

 

He can't get condoms, and he certainly won't have her get condoms. Put her through that particular ordeal in the face of a pharmacist, on top of the morning after pill she'll have to take in the next hours. No way. 

He'd only feel like more of a loser, as if that train hadn't left the station already. 

 

He doesn't think he's gonna feel very good for a long time about having made her just _wonder_ until she gets a test. And in the meantime at least, he'd like to feel less guilty, and give her some peace of mind.

But if he's being real, he's aiming for the sky right there. She can't ever relax, no matter what the circumstances. 

Carrying an ice cube tray full of water from her sink to the freezer must make her reach unprecedented levels of stress.  

 

All of this, of course, is relevant only if she ever wants to get back on his dick in the first place. 

 

 

She was gone for only five minutes this afternoon before he slowly rubbed his face out of sheer consternation. He never asked for her number. Her personal number, not her grand-father's. He didn't, because he was too busy throwing shit in her garden. 

It's such a strange feeling to know her in so many intimate ways, yet not to have her phone number. But at least he won't have to call her until tomorrow, for her to come back. He made sure of it. 

 

"Fucking be _back_ tomorrow, Rey. "

 

"Okay."

 

"I'd have you here 24/7, and because that's not possible, I'm willing to wait each day for you to be at my door."

 

"...Okay."

 

She's on his doorstep when he says that to her, about to leave but still turned to him, and he can't bring himself to close the door just yet. He can't stop asking for confirmation that his intentions are clear to her in the fear she might yet again misinterpret his words or actions, but also, he's having a really hard time just... closing the door, period. 

 

"Be here _all of the time you're free_ , Rey. Spend all of your free time, _all of it_ , with me, you got it ?"

 

"Yes."

 

He straightens. Then clears his throat, and mutters lower:

"...I mean, like --if you want to."

 

Because she's looking at him expectantly, not moving at all he thinks there might be something wrong that she didn't dare to mention yet again.

 

He frowns and asks:

"You... you want to ask me something ?"

 

Her blush then is so sudden, he's now sure there's a problem. He bends slightly to hear what she's saying then, because she hardly ever spoke at a lower volume: 

" _Uh_ , yes. Is --You, can-- can I--"

 

That's when it hits him: "Oh, shit, _right._ "

 

He bends over, and slides his arms around her waist to pull her against him when his lips find hers. He's sure that between her nervousness, the depth of the kiss he gives her and the way he's failing at holding her so she can still use her ribcage, she'll be short on oxygen really soon, and so she might only have a minute left to live. Because how is he supposed to let go now ?

She's fisting his shirt at his shoulders, out of trying to keep her emotions in control but also she's pulling him to her. 

 

He has to let go at once, suddenly, to indeed let go, and he's shocked to see he manages to do so.

 

She's casting her eyes down, mouth swollen and shiny, panting when she lets out a breathy and hurried "Bye", before turning to leave. 

 

"Bye Rey. _See you tomorrow_."

 

 

 

 

When Leia gets home, he's at the door in a split second. 

 

" _Heeeey_ Leia, how was your day ?" he says -because he's a good son and he's learned his lesson. 

 

"Fine how was yours ?" she asks back -because she still feels guilty about the other day and she's learned her lesson.

 

He was sure he was going to be able to remain casual when she'd return home but it's another thing now that he actually has her in front of him and that he has to follow through with his plan. Lord help him, he's laughing nervously, when he says:

 

"Well, you know, since you asked--"; he clears his throat, looks down, while Leia is barely paying attention to him, emptying her bag on the consol. "Look, Leia, I'm just gonna say it before I lose my nerve."

 

She's frowning, still looking for something she doesn't see among all the shit she just poured out of her bag:

" _Ben_. Call me Mom, like a regular person. Would you ?"

 

"Trust me you're not gonna want me to call you mom for what I'm about to ask."

 

"God knows where you got that goddamn habit", she mumbles.

 

She's just sure he can't have anything of importance to ask or tell her, so he decides to just go for it. He's closing his eyes, bracing himself for what he's about to say.

 

"Can you...Please, please... would you be so so kind as to... buy me some condoms ?" 

 

"BEN" she immediately exclaims, jerking her head up. 

 

Oh he's got her full attention now, no doubt about that. 

 

"Yeah yeah, I know", he starts, trying to contain her outrage somehow. But she cuts him off.

 

"Are you _insane_ ? What happened to you today, you had a concussion ?"

 

"Sort of-"

 

" _No_. I'm not going to a pharmacy or whatever store--"

 

"You could find a distributor you know--"

 

"--and have the people there see me get _condoms_. Out of the question. "

 

"Now that's just narrow minded", he comments, certainly to fight the embarrassment burning him from inside. She's walking toward the kitchen suddenly with quick steps, because she's obviously trying to run away from that conversation, although she still needs to counter:

 

"I'm not _narrow minded_ , people are ! Call a friend."

 

"I don't have any friends." Inspiring pity might be his best option yet.

 

"Order them on the internet or something, like a _grown adult_ , Ben. "

 

Ironically, that almost prompts him to stomp his foot like a twelve year-old out of frustration:

 

"I'm not gonna wait for it to be delivered, it's gonna take too much time !"

 

She turns to look at him just then, utterly confused:

"Just when do you think you're gonna need condoms, before your probation's over ??"

 

His face goes blank.

She widens her eyes. 

 

" _Who's_ coming to my house, when I'm not here ??"

 

"No one", he protests, rolling his eyes to avoid her accusatory gaze.

 

"Oh, so you don't have any friends, you only have _very good friends_ ?? --Jesus, Ben !!"

 

"Calm down, I mean aren't you proud of me ? I'm trying to be safe, responsible--"; he's looking for another synonym but is losing too much time; '--  _HEALTHY_ " he almost shouts, like he found a good one in a scrabble game. 

 

"Ben _ENOUGH_. I'm happy for you but I won't be involved !"

She's furiously trying to open an enveloppe, taking revenge on it.

 

"You sure don't act like you're very happy for me", he mumbles again with a clenched jaw. It's so much more difficult than he had anticipated.

 

She takes her time, articulating each word:

"I don't want to buy my son's condoms, Ben. I don't want to know _my son's size_ ! "

 

" _MOM_ _!!!_ " He turns as if to hide himself from her, placing the palms of his hands reflexively over his eyes to unsee what her words brought to mind. "OH-MY- _GOD !_ "

 

"Yeah. Clearly you didn't think this through", she retorts, satisfied by his reaction.

 

He shivers, lets out a " _fuck_ " out of pure embarrassment, his jaw clenched. He's stuck. 

 

"Did you make dinner ?" she asks, trying to change the topic, walking to the living room, and he follows her, dragging his feet. 

 

"You ask like there's a chance I didn't."

 

She stops abruptly by the dinner table, completely stopping in her tracks, and hits the table with her fist as if to interrupt an agitating assembly, to then stands there perfectly still. She didn't hit it too hard but enough to make him jump and look at her, confused. 

She then hides her eyes behind her hand, head down, like he disappointed her again, like she can't take his shit anymore. 

 

"W--what, what ?" he stutters. 

 

She raises her head up and lets her hand hide her mouth now, which allows him to see her cheeks got wet in a second, her eyes red, with the saddest frown furrowing her forehead. 

 

His eyes are wide. 

 

"What --what did I do ? What ?"

 

She lowers her hand to be able to speak, exposing her trembling lips, but her throat seems to be too tight for that, and she's a modest woman; he doesn't remember if he ever saw her cry. She didn't cry when he got arrested, or when he got sentenced to prison, at least not in front of him, or anyone he thinks. His heart is out of control. She takes a few seconds, looking at the table, before asking in a strangled voice, her eyes now to him:

 

"So... you're gonna eat, tonight, Ben ? "

 

He looks at the table. 

 

He set the table for two earlier, not just one like he usually does. He didn't think much of it; like it's still natural to him to eat proper meals with his mother. But he hasn't eaten much lately, and she's apparently been wanting to have a meal with him so badly that her crying's what this decision got him in the end. 

 

"Jesus, Mom...", he lets out, his shoulders sagging. That's a new kind of shame he's feeling now. 

 

"Are you ?" she asks in an unusually high pitched voice. "This plate is for you, right ?"

 

He sighs. "Yes. It is."

 

"And we're gonna eat together, like normal people ?"

 

"Yes, Mom, we are." He shakes his head, avoiding her gaze at all cost. He sighs heavily.

 

"I know it's not your intention, but I feel like shit right now", he ends up muttering in an incredibly low voice.

 

She sniffs, seemingly regaining control over her crying, and says in the voice he knows of her before heading to the kitchen: 

 

"Well... a lot of us feel like shit a lot of the time, Ben. You're not special."

 

 

 

 

 


	12. A goddamn drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... aaand we're giving the mic back to Rey
> 
> Rey, honey, what's up with you ?

The sky is starting to grow dark as night falls. There's still faint shouts of children in the distance that interrupt the quiet of the neighborhood, along with the croaks of frogs coming from the small, neglected pool of the Patersons. 

 

She's at her window. 

 

She couldn't help but check if he was in his room by any chance, and he is, his back to her, reading a piece paper with close attention not quite near his window. 

 

She hopes it's because he's developed just like her the reflex to systematically check his neighbor's windows that he ends up turning his gaze to her tonight.

 

Her heart threatens to burst out of her chest as soon as he sets his eyes on her. 

 

She waves with very little assurance at him as he gets closer to his window, feeling her cheeks burn in the process. She must look like an idiot. 

But he smiles, and waves back at her. 

She can only smile back at the sight, maybe in a way she wouldn't dare to if there wasn't any glass or distance between them. 

He brings his hand to the side of his face to mimic a phone.

It's almost eight thirty, so she shakes her head reluctantly, and mimes her holding an invisible spoon that she brings to her mouth to indicate she's going to have to eat soon.

She feels ridiculous in the process once more. 

 

Especially since Kenobi catches her.

 

"The hell you're doing girl ?"

 

She jumps, and hastily closes the curtains, mortified but too late about how this reaction makes her look. 

"Nothing !"

 

Then, to give in the illusion that she can regain control over the situation, she takes the lead and says to him with a traitorously shaky voice:

"How about dinner Obi ?"

 

Obi eyes her suspiciously but has the kindness not to say anything. 

Until he decides he's not gonna be kind after all. 

 

Later during the meal, after a long silence only filled with their chewing, he puts down his fork and says almost innocently: 

 

"I don't see Solo go round and round in his backyard anymore."

 

And just like that, she knows.

She has the indication just then that Obi knows. She can only hope he'll go on and pretend he doesn't, for her sake. But that's not what happens. 

She swallows her bite carefully, and looks at her grand-father, humming a small sound of acknowledgement out of politeness at his remark. It causes him to add: 

 

"D'you think he finally found the way to his house ?"

 

She lowers her gaze, quickly deliberating whether she should take the bait. Her indecision makes her shrug, as she tries to sell that she's much more interested in what's on her plate.

It doesn't do much. 

 

"You're just sure I have no idea what's going on, aren't you girl ?"

 

 _That_ bite is really, _really_ hard to swallow, and despite knowing deep, deep down it's the wrong way to go, she almost murmurs: 

 

"What do you mean, Obi ?"

 

" _No_. Don't even try", he counters with a warning tone. 

 

Now she's just holding her head down, looking at her plate like a grounded child. Ultimately, she doesn't care about Obi's opinion. She barely knew him as a kid, and saw him even less as an adult. The shame she's feeling is coming from deeper inside, and her heart's beating faster in the fear of what might be coming at her. Still she clings onto the hope he won't go there. 

 

"What do you do with this man, for hours, in his house ?"

 

The question immediately brings to her mind what happened this very afternoon and the image sets aflame her cheeks and her neck.

There's no need to struggle against it. She gave him the answer the second the blush crept on her skin. That's how all her emotions always get out in the open for anyone to read.

 

Still, she shrugs once again. 

 

When she raises her eyes to him, she's crumbling inside at his expression.

 

His mouth is in a frown, a sad one. 

 

"You can't be serious, Rey", he says with the weariest voice there is, and it breaks her heart just as much as it annoys her.

 

She frowns, shakes her head, muttering the smallest "what ?" in return.  

 

She doesn't want to go there. 

_God, let us not go there, please._

 

 _"Rey..._ With what happened to your parents... ? _"_ he swallows hard. He's not just talking about her parents. He's talking about his daughter too. Her mother.

 

"...You can't be serious", he repeats. 

 

He's looking at his plate too, now. Eyes down, he says dryly, bitterly: 

 

"Don't you have any idea what he's been sentenced for ?"

 

She almost cuts him off then, something that she just never, ever does: 

 

" _Yes_. Yes. I know, Obi."

 

She puts down her fork as well. No need to pretend like she can eat the rest. 

 

"He told me. The first day I went there."

 

He's looking at her like she slapped him, saying: 

 

"That's even _worse_. _How_ ?"

 

She exhales through her nose, unable to keep from doing so, looking anywhere but him. To her great chagrin he won't let it go: 

 

"You know, your mother wasn't like that, before she met your father."

 

It's already too much, but she thinks she'll have the strength to remain calm, until he adds, almost shouting: 

 

"She wasn't a goddamn _drunk_ , Rey !"

 

She stands up abruptly: " _NO_. Obi, I won't have this !" she almost shouts back although with a very uneven voice, her hands shaking at her sides. 

 

He's not done, red in the face, spitting: "So that's how it's gonna be ? We're just _neeever_ gonna learn from our mistakes then ? Rey. _Look at me._ "

 

She keeps her head turned to the side, her lungs full of air that won't get out. 

 

"Is the story bound to repeat itself, little girl ? You just can't let me die in peace ? _Is that it_ ?"

 

She storms out of the room, but he shouts after her:

 

"Drunk driving, Rey ! _Drunk driving._ "

 

 

 


	13. A piece from a discarded puzzle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey you got rudely interrupted, you were saying ?

 

Rey can't say she sleeps well that night.

 

She's managed to keep under lock and key things that are so ingrained in her identity that she doesn't pay attention to them anymore. Still those things can't be forgotten, and no matter how much determination she has, they hardly can be ignored. 

She resents Obi a great deal for bringing it all up, and he resents her for having pushed it down, but in the morning all that's left is bitterness regarding the situation, for what's been their circumstances up to this day. 

They're just very unlucky people. 

 

She and Obi don't talk. It's not a punitive treatment from either of them. Their anger isn't directed at each other anymore, but it's there all the same, settling in their bodies like an undercurrent, and everywhere in between too. 

 

Obi doesn't need to add much anyway. 

 

She went to bed the night before unable to fight back half memories from another time. 

 

She doesn't remember her parents that well, she really doesn't. For some reason what she does remember well is the gauche, inexpert grief she experienced when she was about to turn six, when they both died. 

The way she felt obligated to look, act sad in the face of upset adults all around her, how she so wanted to participate in their shared mourning by demonstrating the behavior that was expected of her. 

The way the attention she was at the center of came for the most part from curiosity rather than actual concern.

Being sent to her aunt's, a stranger at the time.

 

And then, one by one, having the realities of her loss catch up to her. 

The recurrent nightmares, every night, waking up the whole household with her screaming, her, the kind, soft-spoken child who was just so quiet during the day, she'd wake up everyone up each night, even the neighbors, for months on end. 

And later even as a teen, having her cousins state matter-of-factly that alcoholism is hereditary, making her a statistic in the family, making her feel like she'd forever be the adopted one no matter how long she'd live with them, a piece from a discarded puzzle that had been thrown into the wrong box. 

Her aunt trying to be sweet by saying she was a lucky charm, because she was supposed to be in the car that day. 

 

None of what Obi said about Ben before she met him, or that Ben said after she met him, brought the slightest thing to the surface. That's how good she is at keeping everything buried deep inside, but also, she actually doesn't remember anything about her parents' addiction. She was too young. And to this day she doesn't know much about addiction period, nor does she want to know anything about it.  

Alcoholism is a blurry-faced monster that's always been hiding in the dark, a tune so faint in the background of her mind that she doesn't hear it anymore.

So much so in fact that she's convinced herself over the years that the only reason she never drinks is because she doesn't like the taste of it.

 

There's no way for her not to be anxious about this afternoon now, but at least she knows she sure won't let what happened keep her from going next door.

At two, she's eager to leave, and she doesn't care if her grand-father is indeed sleeping or if he's watching her instead. 

 

It only takes Ben opening the door for her to feel relief like she never felt before. Relief at how her fears are shattered all at once just by seeing him, and she truly believes in that moment it was a weakness for her to think her past mattered when in the end, it really doesn't.   

He always smiles like he's trying to keep from doing so. It puts dimples on his cheeks and warmth in her heart.

 

"Yes ? What do you want ?" He asks her right away, and it's not like all the other times he teased her, because this time he's absolutely unable to keep a straight face. 

Still she looks at her feet to hide her own smile. 

 

"Can I come in ?" she breathes, eyes down. 

 

"I don't know, what you sellin' ?" he shoots back. 

 

She looks up at him. She wants to just wait for him to done. Which is really not yet, because by being unable to stop smiling at what he's saying she's only encouraging him. 

 

"Ma'am, there's been a lot of burglaries in the neighborhood recently, I'm not about to let just anyone in."

 

"Why not ?" she asks almost pursing her lips to hide her amusement, and it is not very good a retort but she's trying since he's cruel enough to wait for her to engage in his nonsense. 

 

"Look at you, you could take me in a second ..."

She laughs at that because there's no way not to, although she hates her laugh, and gives it through lips pressed tightly together. 

 

"... so I think I'd rather close that door. Good day to you."

 

He closes the door.

 

She doesn't move, but blinks a few times after ten seconds.

 

The door's opened once again.  

 

"Ma'am, leave my doorstep --I'll vote Obama, okay ? Whatever you want."

 

She shakes her head, daring to let out a small incredulous _really ?_ at that. 

 

"No?" he tries again. "Then what is it? You're required to let your neighbors know you're a sentenced sex-offender? "

 

She jerks her head up, taken by surprise. "What?"

 

He hides his face behind the door to laugh, leaning against it. Then he's looking at her again, dimples showing, before finally stepping aside. 

"Alright I didn't realize you were a Girl Scout. Please, come on in."

 

She thinks he's done, but she should know better because she hears him casually say when she walks past him: 

"Although if it involves a skirt I won't mind you keeping your uniform on next time. "

 

She widens her eyes at him, just before the fire in her lungs spreads over her chest, then neck, then her entire head. 

 

Mercifully, he cuts her short by gesturing toward the living room. 

 

"Take a seat in my office, the petits fours are out already."

 

She goes ahead and stops mid-track when she has the coffee table in sight, stuttering:

"That... It's... That's a lot... to eat, why so much ?"

 

There are actual petits fours, along with what seem to be pies, sweet ones probably, and a quiche.

 

He's right behind her and goes to take a seat, looking like he's searching the right words: 

" _Uuuuh_ I... I'll eat with you today." He clears his throat once he's sat down, then adds because he can't stay serious: "If it's no trouble to you of course."

 

"It is" she deadpans. 

 

He opens his eyes wide up at her, mouth agape, at a loss for words. It seems his shock is exaggerated and genuine at the same time somehow. 

 

"Holy shit, Rey, was that a joke just now ??"

 

She feels her cheeks burn yet again. It seems she can't catch a break with her emotions near this man. 

 

" _Damn_ , woman, I better watch the _fuck out,"_  he says, almost to himself.

 

He takes the foil off of one of the plates before lifting his eyes to her:

"Do you wanna maybe sit or you'll just eat standing up today ?"

 

"Right", she breathes, but then just when she's about to sit on the couch to face him better she freezes, and hurries to turn around and take the seat next to him instead, with a face that can only be a bright red, her head down, heart rate going up.

 

He doesn't miss that and turns his head to the side to allow himself a laugh he does his best to contain, not doing such an excellent job at it. 

 

"Huuuum, _here_ ", his smile is almost keeping him from talking. "Here's your plate, angel." 

 

She exhales a good one, trying not to let the term of endearment stop her from breathing. His sudden embarrassed expression helps. 

 

"Huh, did uh... did you... How much did the pill cost ?"

She's searching his face for answers, clueless about what he's referring to. 

"I'll pay for it", he adds, rubbing his neck, looking down. 

 

 Oh.  _Oh_.

 

"No, that's not --I already -- I'm already taking the pill".

Her last word is close to a whisper.

 

He's unable to hide his surprise. 

"Oh. Oh okay, good. Right." Then shakes his head : "I don't know why I assumed..."

 

She cuts him off, although still at a very low volume: 

"I --I've been prescribed this one, to..." she swallows, "to regulate, my --my..."

 

He's moved his head to the side to hear her better, frowning in concentration, then blurts out: 

"Oh, your periods ?"

 

 

She knows she shouldn't be ashamed, but since she feels embarrassment _sneezing_ , it's hard for her not to close her eyes at what he just mentioned. 

She chooses to just nod, eager to leave it at that, when he says:

 

" _Really_ ? Tell me more."

 

She shakes her head, running her hand over her forehead, but he's quick to reassure her:

"I'm kidding Rey, don't worry". He takes a bite, then says matter-of-factly: "I mean... unless you do want to tell me more, in which case, sure, I'd be happy to hear about it."

 

"No, I'm good" she says simply, and it gets another small laugh out of him. 

 

She's about to take a bite of her quiche, but freezes despite herself, eyes falling on a countertop at the end of the room. Because she can't hide anything from him he's onto her hesitation right away and asks, chewing:

 

"Something wrong ?"

 

She shakes her head, genuinely believing in that moment there isn't. But just when she brings the food to her mouth she stops, anticipating that she won't be able to swallow. She doesn't dare to look at him. 

 

Finally, she asks, barely above a whisper:

"--You -- You drink scotch ?"

 

He frowns. Then looks over at the counter. There's a bottle of scotch there on a wooden tray, along with four round scotch glasses. 

The fact she never noticed despite having been in this room every day for more than three weeks just shows the denial she desperately tried to force herself into. 

 

"Ah ! Aah, no."

 

She can tell by his tone that he's being truthful. She doesn't have the smallest doubt about his sincerity, he's telling her the truth and she lets relief wash over her, not suspecting he's about to elaborate:

 

 

"That's my mother's", and that's a blow on its own although that bottle had to be someone's, obviously. It's only that there's nothing she can do, as it takes her right back to her cousins and what they used to say to her. 

 

But the real blow only comes right after:

 

"I don't like scotch", he says, taking another bite.

 

She nods slowly, moving the food around in her plate, while that answer sinks deep into her bones. She swallows, and she knows, she just _knows_ she ought not to ask but she does it anyway:

 

"What _do_ you like ?"

 

He frowns, thinking, chewing:

 

" _Uuum_... I don't know. I enjoy red wine, but with food ? "

 

She nods again. That's good. That's not so bad, that's fine. She realizes later she just was really eager to believe he was done, but he goes on and her face starts to fall:

 

"Mmmh. A beer, ice cold, after I get physical for _whatever reason_."

He looks down like he's thinking again. "And I guess if I'm having a cocktail, I'll have it rum-based."

 

What's so painful is that he's clueless. He's just eating, he has no idea he's digging his own grave.

 

She'd begged for them not to ever have to talk about it but her face, as usual, gives away her inner turmoil.

 

He looks at her then and chuckles nervously, confused at her expression, until a few seconds in he's not confused anymore. Not confused at all. Still he asks instead of going head first into it:

 

"Is there a problem ?"

 

And she shakes her head. She doesn't want to talk about it, she can't talk about it, not yet, not now, she just can't. But she has a feeling if she stays he's gonna want to know just why she has trouble breathing all of a sudden, so she manages to let out a few words in a row:

"I, I --I'm not hungry, that's all. I... I'll come back tomorrow", she assures him while trying her best to use a reassuring tone.

 

Although she gets up with her eyes cast down, it doesn't prevent her from seeing that he hasn't moved at all.

 

He just sits there and watches as she turns to leave, waiting for the front door to shut.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ja9IUKElT5w


	14. Let's have a little faith while we can

Ben sits back in his seat for quite some time. 

 

 

The sun barely goes down while he does, making the shadows in the room stretch slighlty to the right. 

 

An hour has passed maybe. At some point, he's started biting his thumbnail. He keeps on thinking to himself he should really put the food away in the fridge, but it only gets him to bite his nail and the skin around it some more. 

 

The couch is in plain sight under the rays of the sun streaming through the bay window, and he barely can look at it. 

He _laughed_  about that couch barely an hour ago. 

 

Somehow, despite the fact he's wary enough every time he must let people know about his deeds, he didn't hesitate one second when Rey asked him what felony he'd been in for.

 

It'd almost cause him to shiver to think back at how casual he was about it, how casual he was around her from the beginning. 

 

It's like he'd felt right from the start that she'd be unlike anybody else; that he could tell her the truth and only the truth, without sugarcoating it, without elaborating about how much he's changed or how he's a good man now, and she'd still give him the basic respect, trust and consideration most people refused him. 

She actually did just that.

How fucking good it felt. 

 

...in the end, the reality of it just overtook her, and of course it did. 

 

He can't find it in himself to have the slightest trace of resentment for her reaction. He can't bring himself to feel she's the mistaken one. 

 

There never could have been any understanding him, any knowing him, though, without knowing that part of his life. He can see now he immediately wanted her to know everything for exactly that reason.

And it's what drove her away in the end. 

 _He_ drove her away. 

 

He wishes he could have had her take this part of his life into account and yet disregard it at the same time, but that's not something that's possible.

He's feeling numb all over, trying to push down the foolish hope that she will indeed be back tomorrow, and that all will be forgotten. No matter how much he tries not to give in to them, his fears are at an all-time high.

The energy and the adrenaline could have him move a mountain, fight against what's happening, but his circumstances keep him from doing anything, the trap closing on him. All he can do is hold onto his seat and wait for it like a sheep heading to the slaughter house.

 

_Idiot._

_Fucking idiot._

 

He tries not to let the idea take all the space in his head but he can't help thinking that if  _she_  can't get past that, there's no way anybody can.

 

 

It dawns on him slowly then that despite all his best efforts, no matter how long he walks the line, a drunk is probably all he'll ever be to everyone around him. 

 

 

 

 

 

Leia gets home around eight. 

 

"Ben... You didn't forget about your appointment with Gomez tomorrow, right ?"

He's staring in the distance again, and he doesn't realize completely just how dark it has gotten until Leia turns the lights of the kitchen on.

 

Despite him being out of focus, despite the fact that her voice doesn't exactly bring him back to reality fully, he still feels she stiffens at the sight of him. She stiffens when he doesn't move an inch as she gets closer. He answers though, with a slack expression that makes what he says a bit hard to understand despite it only being three words: 

 

"Yes, I have."

 

"You have ?" she asks, like she can't really do anything with that answer besides repeating it, waiting for him to elaborate. 

 

But he stays quiet. 

 

"Well," she finally says. "Now I've reminded you, so you'll make it easy for both of us and get ready before I get home this time ? I don't want to wake you up five minutes before they arrive."

 

There's a silence after that which leads her to believe she's not gonna get anything out of him, but he straightens a bit, and looks at her: 

"What time are they supposed to get here ?"

"Ten."

"Alright."

 

She's about to turn when he speaks again: 

"Leia."

"Yes ?"

 

He pauses for a few seconds, then says, eyes downcast: 

"I didn't prepare anything for dinner. There's --" He swallows. "There's a quiche if you want, along with... other stuff, they aren't very fresh I mean --they'll need reheating. It's all in the fridge."

 

She stands there, lips in a straight line. 

"You're not gonna eat tonight ?"

 

Realizing only now that he involuntary implied just that, he blinks from embarrassment but can't avoid telling her the truth: 

"I... I'm really not hungry Leia."

 

She nods slowly, jaw clenched, but he says, still not looking at her: 

"I'll sit at the table with you."

 

She quietly takes in some air, as if he was a deer she could frighten just by breathing too hard; still she chooses to take a risk, knowing she's really throwing a rock in the pond he's drinking from when she says: 

"Just... I'll cut the smallest portion, Ben, the smallest slice there is, alright? It won't even qualify as an amuse bouche. Do... do you think you can eat that for me ?"

 

He sighs, rubs his eyes, then slowly nods.

 

She hurries to the kitchen, almost like if she doesn't set the table quickly enough he might change his mind, and calls him some time after with a voice that betrays her eagerness: "Ready ! --It's ready, Ben !"

 

He winces at the idea that he caused her to have such low standards regarding the effort he makes- or lack thereof. The guilt she makes him feel hits a new low. 

 

 

"So," she starts when he finally sits across from her at the wooden dinner table. "I know you're not exactly keen to talk about it, but what do you think is on the menu tomorrow ? "

 

"If you know I'm not keen on talking about it, why do you ask ?"

 

She recedes slightly, her face blank, as if she's now so used to his unexpected dryness that she can just take it and then quietly brace herself for more. 

 

But he answers in earnest before the tone of the conversation changes definitely, eyes down on his plate: 

"Sorry... I --Sorry Leia, just"; he shakes his head a bit, frowning, searching for words, and sighs deeply to be able to answer: "The usual. Just... the usual. He's gonna ask me about my _professional project_ " he lets sarcasm drip generously on those two words. "Then... he'll remind me of my new restrictions in the job market, that I'll be required by law to disclose my record to potential employers, that ... I can't apply for public housing, that I won't be able to vote, what else ?"

He looks like he's genuinely thinking, but ends up cutting the list short: "You know... just... quality motivational speaking."

 

He only now lifts his eyes up to her to see her shoulders sagging, and that's not a sight he gets to have very often. 

 

She tries to hide whatever she's feeling behind the firmness of her voice:

"I thought you were gonna talk about AA meetings this time ?"

 

He nods like he just remembered: " _Right_. Yes. That as well", before muttering to himself: "Something else to look forward too."

 

"Well", she starts, trying not to pay attention to his tone. "You know what I think about AA, but I hope you don't intend to miss any meetings, knowing what the consequences are."

 

"Yup. We're not there, though, so let's not get all worked up over something that's not happening, or something I didn't get to disappoint you with yet. Let's have a little faith while we can."

 

She closes her eyes: "That is... so -- _fucking unfair_."

 

He puts his fork down, trying to fake patience he doesn't have: "What is ?"

 

"You implying I don't have faith in you."

 

"Something else that's unfair, Leia- is you counting on the fact that I won't go to the fucking meetings. Try not to make me feel like more of a loser than I already do."

 

She swallows hard, taking some time before speaking again:

"I just want to make sure you get all you can get, since it isn't much, Ben."

 

"I know."

 

"Because I care about you"

 

"I know that."

 

She stares at him a bit, waiting to see if he'll add anything, but he's busy trying to make the quiche go down his throat. She stays quiet for a moment, then resumes eating. 

"Something happened today, son ?" she tries to ask casually. 

 

He recoils at that, but do a good enough job at recovering from it: 

 

"No, mom. Nothing happened today. Nothing at all."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62VmotZgkEY


	15. Sorry

 

 

Rey doesn't know much, but she knows one thing for sure when she wakes up the next day: her need to go next door is exactly as strong as her fear to do just that. 

 

 

Still in her heart she knows she'll go. As much as she doesn't feel ready, not at all, she will. She might not say what she wants to say, she might breakdown if he pushes her, and she'll be anxious to death in that perspective for the next few hours until it's behind her, but she's still gonna walk up the curb and get to that door. 

 

The confused anger she anticipate from him because of what happened yesterday -even though he's never been angry with her not once- only adds to her dread. 

 

Somehow she feels just as guilty about the fact he cooked her food, a lot of it, only for her to barely take a bite. 

 

She keeps on trying to sort her thoughts out in the hope of finding good, valid explanations for her being fine with everything he is for a little over three weeks and then all of a sudden acting like she's not anymore, but all she can come up with when she imagines him in front of her is a succession of mortified "sorries". It seems it's the only word all of this left her with. 

 

"... _sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry_..."

 

 

Gentler than he ever was in fact, although that's not saying much, since he's far from being the gentlest person. She wonders if it's because he senses she'll go back to the Solo family waste of space this afternoon in spite of his good "advice" and he's trying to win her over, or if the sentiment is genuine. Whatever it is, she's desperate to reconcile for whatever reason, so she's just as gentle in return.

Turns out it gets him to go further down that path, because he says out of nowhere, not looking at her like she herself so often can't look at people, with them both knowing she hasn't inherited that trait from him:

 

"I'm -sorry. I panicked."

It seems like he will leave it at that, but he adds in a lower voice: "I'm still panicking."

 

She bites her tongue before making the mistake of replying that she's panicking too. 

 

She's trying to find some comfort in the fact that she's got a bit more time to mentally prepare for this afternoon when she opens the first floor window that's facing the street to aerate Obi's bedroom even though he almost automatically sleeps on the couch. 

 

It's by doing so that she sees it. 

A police car, parked on the curb across the street. 

She stills, frowning, like a hunting dog that caught a scent. 

 

She's not loosing control just yet. Obviously in her direct entourage she can only associate the police with Ben, so he's the person she thinks about immediately. And police to her, to this day, means only trouble. So the police can't be here for Ben, because he's doing good, he's doing really good, he's the kindest person she knows, he wouldn't get into _trouble_. 

 

...what is that police car doing there then ? 

 

Just from behind the hedge planted in front of her house, the one that hides a good part of her side of the curb to her and the front yard of the Solos, appears a policewoman who crosses the street with a peaceful demeanor to get to her car. 

Not far behind her, her colleague follows her, a black man who seems just as unperturbed. 

He's holding Ben's elbow as he leads him forward. 

Handcuffed. 

 

 

Her heart drops.

 

"--what, what ?" she hears herself say aloud.

 

There doesn't seem to be a scene, but her imagination goes wild all the same. 

She tries to reason with herself that he was in his house all day long, he didn't make the stupid mistake of getting out of his perimeter, did he ? 

Or breaking his ankle monitor ?

Can he be taken back to prison just because ? She doesn't know anything about how those things work.

She's so stricken by what she's seeing -the policeman putting his hand on Ben's head while he bends to get in the backseat of the car -she feels like she's frozen and shaking at the same time. 

 

As if a gunshot had been fired, she bolts out of the room. 

She only needs a handful of seconds to run through the corridor, take the stairs, cross the living room to the hall, then run past the front yard into the street. 

 

A handful of seconds is also apparently all that was necessary too for the car to get started and drive away. 

 

It's not rational, not one bit, but she's turning around to keep from running to the Solos' door in the hope that his mother's there; her heart hammering in her chest. 

It's no secret she's emotional but this is a level of distress she can hardly make sense of. Everything's probably fine, it should be. 

But she inhales deeply, exhales, and decides she doesn't care what it looks like, she has to know.

When she gets to the door, not only does she ring but she knocks too, hurting her knuckles on the wood.

 

She knocks again, and rings again, because the urgency she feels makes her believe she's already waited too long. She keeps on looking toward the street, then the door, then the street again, like there's a chance the car might come back. 

The door opens. 

A small woman standing straight with grey hair says "Hello" to her. She realizes it's because no word got out of her own mouth when they should have.

"Hi, _Hi_ ", comes out of her finally. She's crushing her hands together to keep them from shaking. 

She doesn't even want to think about what her voice sounds like.

 

"Mrs. Solo ?"

 

"Organa", corrects the woman. 

 

Her tone is one of patience, still it doesn't do any good for Rey's nerves. She tries to focus on what exactly she wants to ask, and how to ask it. 

 

"Is, uh. Is Ben here ?"

 

Organa regards her kindly, but her eyes are quite unreadable, especially in the silence that precedes her answer. 

 

"For some reason I suspect you already know he isn't."

 

Rey doesn't know where to look, searching for something to say that might sound good, but Organa helps by taking the lead: 

"You're from next door... right ?" 

 

Yes, nods Rey, happy to answer an easy question. She can't come up with any good reason why she's here, why she would knock on their door to ask the details of the whereabouts of her son. She can't justify why she asks so she just does: 

 

"Where's -- where's Ben ?"

 

Organa smiles and replies softly: 

"He had an appointment. With his probation officer."

 

Rey blinks, her breathing coming to a halt for a second. 

"He has one every month", adds the woman. "One of several conditions to his release." 

 

Rey feels embarrassment take over her panic.

 

Already stepping back, she lets a small " _right_ " get out of her mouth, about to apologize and leave, but Organa stops her right there: 

"Do you want to come in for a minute ?' 

 

 

 

Ben's mother serves her tea. 

Even with all the times Rey's been in this house, she hasn't got used to its silence yet. It must have a better insulation than the Kenobis', given how the walls muffle the sounds from outside. But surely her heart pounding in her ears doesn't lessen this impression. 

 

"So. _Rey_ ", repeats Organa after she reveals her name. "Spending time with the old man ?"

 

"Thank you", breathes Rey when she's offered a hot mug. "Uh... I'm taking care of him."

 

Organa nods, and takes a seat at the end of the table, on Rey's right:

"Turns out he's getting old like the rest of us? How is he ?"

 

Maybe it's because her mind is full with other preoccupations, but she doesn't think twice and answers almost absentmindedly:

"He... Actually, um. He was diagnosed with cancer, early this year... His lungs."

 

Organa straightens. " _Oh ---_ My god. I--I had no idea."

 

Rey still keeps her voice low. She gets to talk about something else than what's on her mind, so the words come more or less easily, even in front of a woman she knows nothing of.

"Don't feel bad, there --there's an actual reason for that. He --keeps on insisting we don't tell anyone." She looks straight at Organa suddenly, pleading: "Don't... _please,_ don't tell him you know. He won't be happy about it." 

 

Organa looks down, then promises: "I won't."

She sips at her tea before speaking again.

"I often work in the afternoon, but even when I don't work I'm quite busy. You caught me on a rare day off. I can't say I'm well aware of what happens in the neighborhood, not like when Ben was a kid. I don't really like staying at home all day."

Rey feels Organa tense after her last sentence. In the light of her son's situation, the most innocent statements are dark hints at what he's going through. 

 

Organa folds her hands on the table, and asks without transition:

"How do you know Ben ?" She carefully grabs her mug. "Did you two meet in prison ?"

 

That wakes Rey up. 

 

Organa smirks. "I'm kidding."

 

Well, at least she knows now he takes that from his mother's side.

 

Rey smiles shyly, but then she feels her blood pressure go up at having to actually answer the question. 

 

"I met him... less than a month ago, I, I... don't know him that well."

 

Organa's tactfulness is showing its colors in that moment, as she chooses not to say anything to counter what is nothing but an obvious lie. 

She just sips her tea. 

 

Rey, on the other hand, can't bring the mug to her lips. Her throat tightens, her worries reclaim her. 

She's overstepping Organa's boundaries, and she expects the woman to tell to get out. She won't forgive herself for asking her anyway: 

"He never told me... the circumstances of... his arrest."

 

Organa's frowning, probably because Rey talks so softly that she must pay extra attention. 

 

"What do you mean ?"

 

"I mean --about what happened."

 

That's not exactly better phrasing, nor a more specific question, but it gets Organa started all the same, and her tone is one of someone who's told the story countless times, mainly to herself: 

 

"There's not much to say. He drank beyond belief, and went behind the wheel of his... friend's car, supposedly because said friend had drunk much more than him -in addition to being coked out of his mind. And-- "

She shrugs, sighing, masking with a blasé expression the bitterness inside:

"He stopped the car in the middle of the highway. He says because his _great friend_ physically attacked him while he was driving. They were arguing about ... _god knows what_ , I don't even think Ben remembers, much less the other one."

She presses her lips together in a straight line.

"Then... he got out of the car, so did the other one. To have a better stage. They set up their show then and there." She's looking at the bottom of her mug. "In the middle of the fucking road."

 

There's a heavy silence after, where they don't look at each other. Rey hasn't touched her tea yet.

 

"Fortunately or unfortunately, Ben got the upper hand. And here we are."

 

Rey swallows hard, and goes on, lowering her chin:

"Is that... Was that... a habit ? ...Drinking I mean."

 

She thinks that if Organa had any doubt about the nature of Rey's relationship with her son, she must no longer have any, because a pained expression settles on her face, along with what looks like great concern.

She's about to know just how wrong she is about what suddenly caused Organa's beautiful face to fall , as Ben's mother asks, barely above a whisper: 

 

"Are --are you... _Yuma's_  -- ?"

 

Rey jerks her head up, her throat impossibly tight now. She barely gets a strangled "yes" out. 

She is. 

 

She realizes only then she hasn't heard her mother's name spoken aloud for years. That's another way both her parents died. No one ever talks about them in the family, there's no picture of them anywhere. She knows, because she looked for hours as a child, in shoeboxes, in the attic, in the garage. It's like they never existed.

Hearing her mother's name come so easily on the lips of a stranger, brings tears to her eyes in an instant.

 

Organa's mouth turns upside down, her eyes shines with pure empathy, as she lets out a weak " _Oh_   _my god_..." 

 

Like she always does, Rey cries in perfect silence, her eyes down. Tears roll down her cheeks without a sound.

 

"Rey... What exactly do you want to know about my son ? Is it really about what happened that day, or is it something else ?" 

 

Rey takes a few seconds to try and speak with a more or less even voice through her tears, and it's with something close to determination that she finally asks what she wanted to ask from the beginning:

 

"I want to know --if there's a chance --for him to, do that again. If there's a chance he'll relapse." 

 

Organa closes her eyes from what seems to be sheer understanding, and for a second Rey basks in the fact she feels so close to that woman despite having met her ten minutes earlier.

 

"Jesus... my sweet, _sweet_ child. _I'm so_   _sorry_..."

 

Rey looks at her. Organa's eyes have the saddest form.

 

_"...I can't tell you that."_

 

Rey's mouth must be slightly agape, because Organa rephrases it in a firmer tone: 

 

"I can't promise you he won't."

 

 

Rey's tea is cold.

She hasn't taken a single sip.

 

"What I can say is --", starts Organa, before stopping.

She shakes her head slowly:

"That happened nearly two years ago. And he's not the same person anymore" She clenches her jaw. "For better or for worse, actually. A lot has happened since. His friends from back then are... mostly gone."

 

But in the end, there's only sorrow in her voice, along with resignation. 

 

"Trust me. I wish I could tell you everything will be okay. But nobody can tell you that. He's the one in control, honey. Not us."

 

 

When Rey walks back to Kenobi's house, she feels the air cool her wet cheeks, and just as she gets to her front door, new hot tears stream anew. 

She gets inside.

Kenobi's standing in the corridor, facing her. 

Like he waited for her to be back. 

She looks at him without a word, swallowing down the sobs that threaten to get out. 

 

 

"I'll call your cousin, Rey", he tells her with great calm. "I'll be fine on my own until she arrives."

 

 

She thinks she's gonna protest. 

 

 

But she looks down, sniffles. 

Then slowly, slowly nods. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WTt69YO2VI
> 
> I'll be at the beach for the next two days ... without internet.  
> I'll post the next chapters on wednesday.  
> In the meantime, take care of yourselves, and I promise we'll be back on some more angst but with a LOT more lighthearted stuff in the mix, unlike the last two chapters we just went through. You'll see, it'll be much more digest. 
> 
> We hit rock bottom guys, we can only go up !  
> See you on wednesday ! =)


	16. The Blue cow

 

"White boy."

 

That's all Colette says now in the morning if it's his turn -supposedly- to go at the counter to take the customer's order.

When she wants to order him around, or when he forgets to put a hairnet on, if he puts the wrong number of beef patties on the grill or doesn't put the right gloves on, she calls him _white boy_. 

 

The rest of the time, when she gives him instructions about how to proceed with the cooking, when she gives him tricks to assemble the ingredients faster, or when she wants to draw his attention to the timers of the heating bin where the ordered burgers and wraps are aligned and ready to be served, she calls him _kid_ , even though she's only five years older than him.

 

Then, she calls him  _my baby_ , sometimes  _baby boy_ , when she arrives at nine in the morning and she doesn't find him in the kitchen or meet him in the corridor leading to the changing rooms. 

 

"Where's my baby, Ramirez ?"

 

"You look tired, baby boy."

 

"Don't sit here, that's my baby's spot."

 

 _Then_ , when she's too serious, or when he tells her about something that's too sad for her taste, which isn't often because she can take a lot, she drops the smile, looks him in the eyes, and his name finally makes it to her lips:

 

"Ben. Don't."

 

"Ben, that's not funny."

 

"Ben... I'm so sorry."

 

On his first day at the Blue Cow, he gets paired up with Colette. He follows Ramirez to the kitchen, dressed in a fresh uniform, a light blue button-up shirt with short sleeves, some plain black pants along with a navy blue apron.

When they enter the kitchen, she's her back to them, arranging the burger wrappers. Ramirez, one of the assistant managers, who's almost ten years younger than Ben, keeps his blasé expression on and just gestures vaguely toward Colette, who's bending down to count how many sheets of baking parchment they have left for the first half of the day.

 

"Here's Colette, Colette, this is Ben. She'll be the one training you, so..."

 

And he just lets his sentence die like that, before turning and leaving him there. 

Colette's a large, overweight dark-skinned woman who's half his height. She slowly stands back up and turns to him. Once she sets eyes on him she looks him up and down with a frown, like she can't make up her mind about what she sees, and then proceeds to let out _the longest tchipetou there is_ , which is what she calls it when she sucks her teeth in defiance.

 

At first, she doesn't give him any guidance. She just waits for him to completely improvise to then bat his hand  and push him out of her way every time he comes close to using the scraper or getting some ingredients out, coupling her impatient sighs with blunt _Nos_ and "Not like that" and "Lemme, you walking fire hazard". 

 

The kitchen is cut in half -one space is for preparing fish and chicken orders, the other beef ones. Colette and Ben are set to always be in charge of the beef orders. Between the two grills, the toasters, the two freezers, and the worktop, there's not much space to navigate in to prepare the orders as they appear on the screen above the bin.

 

Colette's large size and his equally large frame only add to it, especially since it's very clear from the beginning that Colette doesn't give any fuck. She steps on his foot, elbows him in the side, pushes him and orders him to _move_ , and the first few days he quickly ends up standing back in one corner with a frustrated scowl on his face and just looks at her work. 

Since it's close to impossible for just one person to handle all the orders during the lunch rush hour, she thinks better of it soon and starts involving him by giving him little tasks to do.

 

"Take out a bag of patties and pour them in that freezer"

 

"Refill the ketchup bottle, hurry"

 

"Remove the meat boy, the buns are right there"

 

He burns himself countless times and she never misses the opportunity to mock him. "That's what you get", she says. "Serves you right."

 

He wins her over a little bit when he starts putting some sass in his responses to her scolding:

 

"There's no way I could ever measure up to your expertise, Colette"

 

"Yes ma'am, I'll be sure to add a hundred push-ups to that, so that it never happens again"

 

"You're my lighthouse in the storm Coco, I'd be lost without you"

 

She just looks at him pointedly, and lets out _tchipetous_ after _tchipetous_ , sucking in the air through her teeth more times than she can count, but he can tell very soon that she's into it, especially when he calls her _Coco_.

 

They're always scheduled together, always to work from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon. One day she's eating in the break room after their shift and he joins her.

 

"White boy", she states as the door opens on him. 

 

"Black woman", he says back flatly, but she reacts strongly: " _NO_."

 

"Sorry", he mumbles. He sits not quite across from her, but still close enough that they can have a conversation, although he doesn't count on it.

 

She eyes him while chewing, and he ignores her, until she asks: 

"Why you work here ?"

 

He looks at her with a blank expression: "I know it's a hobby for a lot of you, but I only do it for the money."

 

She just stares at him, waiting for him to give a real answer, and he does just a few seconds later: 

"It's the only job I found after prison."

 

"When was the end of your sentence ?" she asks almost right away, and he's a bit taken aback that she seems unmoved by the fact that he's an ex-convict. 

 

"A month ago, more or less."

 

"You haven't struggled much to find a job then."

 

"I mean define _struggle_. Devito is the only one who didn't hang up on me when I told him about my record."

 

 "Mmh."

 

He tells her about the reasons he got in, about Leia, that he lives in the spare room of a family friend’s house in town in town just to try and not live at his mother's any longer. He also tells her about the kind of money he has total.

He avoids talking about the house arrest altogether. 

In return he learns she's got four children, the oldest being twenty already. She'd been in juvie ages ago, and she's worked at the Blue Cow for a little over six years, making her the employee with the most seniority, as employees here all come and go year round. She's the oldest staff member besides Devito, the head manager, and she's never had a promotion. She _also_ does it for the money, she tells him. 

The next day, she calls him _kid_ for the first time. 

 

 

After three months of working and eating and talking together every day, Colette is only severe with Ben now when it's fair. 

They arrive at nine and clock in together. They have until eleven to put back on the machines every pieces that have been cleaned by the night crew, to have them ready for rush hour, fill all the compartments with fresh salads, tomatoes, onions and cheese, make a list of what food's missing and what quantity they need depending on what day it is, to go get it in the negative or positive cold chambers, then write another list of all the supply they're short on so they can go get everything from the stock room on the first floor. Those are the main tasks among a multitude of other ones. They do their thing talking with each other absentmindedly in a restaurant that's nothing but quiet until eleven except for the occasional beeping of the machines. 

While one of them leaves with the large white trolley, on which boxes of frozen meats will be piled up and brought back into the kitchen along with other things, the other one stays in the kitchen to take the orders of the very few customers they have during the morning, in case there's any. They have to keep an eye on the counter through the openings of the heating bin to make sure there's no one waiting. 

Technically, they're not supposed to take a customer's order _at all_. But the staff has been downsized again and again over the years, and now the cooks are expected to take the breakfast orders at the register because there are not enough customers from nine to eleven to justify having an employee present for just that. The restaurant is particularly empty in early January during those hours, because everybody spent all their money on Christmas and New Year's Eve.

It interrupts their train of actions and makes them lose time, not to mention it also means they have to talk early in the morning to people who won't be alert enough yet to even say hello to them, so none of them are ever eager to go take care of a client. Especially if said client is a skinny teenage boy who wants a muffin and an orange juice. 

 

Way too often, Colette will summon him with a categorical "White boy" when she spots a customer waiting, in the hope that he'll just go without a second thought when it's actually her turn to go. 

 

"Nice try", he tells her, not even lifting his eyes up from the oil he's pouring into the frying machine. "You go Coco, I'm tired of it just as much as you are."

 

"Boy I've been working here for _six years",_ she almost whines, tearing open a bag of patties.

 

He cranes his neck to look at the ceiling, growling. He wishes he was indifferent to this argument, but it makes him feel guilty every time. She doesn't use it too often, aware it'll loose its effect if she does.

He takes off his hairnet, and takes a second to look at his hands. They're already dried up from having to wash them repeatedly, and the burns have left marks and scars on his wrists and forearms that give the impression he's been working here all his life. 

He rubs his eyes and lets out a long exhale through his nose, before finally heading to get around the separation between the kitchen and the counter, to get to the touchscreen and type in the customer's order. 

 

His eyes are downcast as he approaches the counter, and because he lifts them up before saying anything, he ends up not being able to get a single word out. 

 

 

 

On the other side of the counter stands Rey. She looks up at him, in what looks like a parka that's two sizes too big for her. 

 

 

She's just as unable to speak. But while he's just frozen she seems to try to form words with her mouth, as her lips moves imperceptibly, but she couldn't speak even if she knew what to say because there seems to be no air in her lungs. Her hands are gripping at her bag.

 

She shouldn't bother saying anything anyway, because all the noises of the machines become distant all at once beneath the roar of his heart pounding in his ears, and throat and chest. He blinks a few times. 

 

Apparently at some point he took two steps back because his back bumps into the ice cream machine. 

 

That wakes him up enough to let out a faint, strangled sound: 

"... _fish_ \--"

 

 

Rey's eyebrows go up, adding confusion to the expression of utter helplessness she's displaying. 

 

 

He clears his throat and manages to get out the whole thing out, although barely above the volume necessary for anyone to hear him. 

 

 

"Fishtank."

 

 

There's just the beeping and the humming of the machines along with the very faint jazz music playing in the back of the restaurant for a few seconds, as they just stare at each other. 

 

 Then, Colette’s voice comes from the kitchen, loud and clear:

 

"Did you just fucking say _fishtank_ to me kid --?"

 

 

 Ben clenches his jaw and swallows before puffing out: 

"Yup. Yup."

 

 

He hears a _clang_ from behind, then a few hurried steps, and Colette's around the corner, at the end of the counter. She comes to a halt as she sees Rey, briefly looking her up and down before looking at Ben. 

She marches toward him and pushes him out of the customer's sight, all the way to the ice making machine where he's properly hidden, before returning to the counter. 

 

"Oh I'm sorry Miss, my colleague had to take care of an emergency ... thing", he hears her state flatly. "May I take your order ?"

 

He lets himself sit down on the stairs near the lift, fists clenched, waiting for it to be over. 

 

Devito comes down the stairs at that moment. 

 

"Solo is that what I'm paying you for ? Am I to expect everything's ready for noon ?"

 

He swallows trying to get an answer out, but Colette beats him to it because she's back. 

 

"Kid you can come back, she took flight."

 

Devito frowns: "What ?" -but Colette ignores him, and heads to the kitchen. 

 

Ben gets up, hands slightly trembling, and follows her without a word. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch, the time jump.  
> Without so much as a warning. Jesus. 
> 
> I hope you don't mind ? 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWrodPMhpdw


	17. Fishtank

 

Colette and Ben spend the rest of their scheduled hours barely exchanging the few necessary words to follow up on the orders.

It creates a strange atmosphere, their shut faces and brief exchanges, with everything around them blaring, from the machines to the shift manager, to the crew members behind the counter and on the other side of the counter, the customers. The volume of the music in the restaurant is also turned up a bit during rush hour. 

 

 

He'd still say Rey's silence during the past five months is the most deafening thing he's ever experienced in the end. 

 

 

When everything calms down a bit around two, Colette is the one to breach the wall that settled between them: 

"You eat with me later."

 

It almost sounds like a question. Ben keeps looking straight at the timers he's taking off the bin when he says: 

"No I think I'll go home right away, Colette."

 

He hears from behind: 

 

_"... You're eating with me later."_

 

 

It's said with a tone that leaves no room for argument. When he turns his head to look at her, her eyes are focusing on the three burgers she's assembling. She doesn't care much for his bullshit, he should know.

 

 

 

When he's able to mention to Colette for the first time that he was under house arrest for six months, he doesn't talk about Rey.

He talks about the conditions of his early  _release-not-so-release_ , of his loss of appetite and his inability to sleep, of how he kept on walking in circles; he talks about his mother,  _a lot_ , in relation to things he fucking never talked about with anyone before, and maybe that alone adequately shows how much he doesn't want to  _talk about Rey_ , if he prefers to unpack unresolved conflicts with  _Leia_. 

 

But even during those times he knows, he just  _knows_  Rey's gonna come up at some point. Colette always praises him for how well he listens, but if he has any idea what a good listener is, she's  _it_. Because he always ends up pouring everything on her lap, like a sick dog that means well and wants to be pet only to ruin your favorite jeans. He senses there's just no way he'll keep Rey locked inside, when all he's done for the most part since the last time he saw her is think of her. 

He thinks of her whenever school is mentioned around him, whenever he eats something sweet, whenever he sees a white chair. He saw a Croc commercial at some point, because of course he'd go through his whole existence not ever seeing one to finally get to see one now that he knows Rey wears a pair.  

But even when things aren't related to her, they make him think of her. 

 

So one day he finally tells Colette about Rey, about how they came to know each other, about her coming to his house for nearly a month, but mainly, he tells Colette about how Rey stopped coming, and the aftermath of that.

 

Because he used what felt like a good enough metaphor the first time he told her about his life under house arrest, he tells her that, while _before meeting Rey_ he felt like a goldfish going round and round in his space, cut off from the rest of the world, with everything outside his perimeter feeling distorted as though heard and seen through the water of a fishtank, feeling like he was going round and round in his own head, feeding obsessive thoughts and dead energy, he tells Colette that _after_ Rey stopped visiting him, being under house arrest still felt like being in a fishtank, only he was drowning in it.

 

He stopped being a goldfish, or any sort of fish, because it became impossible to breathe in his own home where everything, _everything_ reminded him of her. 

 

The image sticks with Colette so well she's the one who decides to use _fishtank_ as a sort of safeword. "If you see that woman standing at the counter one day, and you're not ready to talk to her, you just say _fishtank_ to me, and I'll know right away. I'll take her order."

 

"That's nice, Coco, but I don't think she's the kind to come here". 

 

"Oh she's a snob ?"

 

"Uh, _no_ , but... it's too noisy for her here."

 

"Typical white girl."

 

"Right."

 

Aside from that comment, he appreciates that Colette doesn't even try to talk shit about Rey. She just has a pained expression on her face that's only about what he went through, not what or who caused it.

 

He realizes just how little he knows about Rey when he worries most of the time about seeing her in the street, at the mall, in the bus, because he has no idea what the chances are that he'll meet her since he doesn't know if she even lives in this town, if her workplace is here. He could go to the public middle school and asks about her there to know if she's one of their teachers-making sure in the process that he gets to wear the official title of _the biggest creep on earth_ , he then reasons. 

 

He repeats to himself he's got to forget about her.

 

At three, Colette prepares her own tray to eat in the breakroom, and he doesn't take anything, because he's got absolutely no appetite. She didn't want him to eat with her to actually see him eat anyway, so why pretend ?

 

 

 "That woman..." Colette starts without any kind of warm-up. "... didn't look like she'd come back anytime soon."

 

 

He feels his ribs tighten at that, and avoids Colette's gaze, looking at the ground when he nods, not expecting her to add: 

 

"But if she does... what's the plan ?"

 

He looks at her. 

 

"What do you mean ?"

 

 

She puts down her burger, wipes her fingers on her napkin. "I mean, are we to always safeword when she's around  ? Or do you intend to talk to her ?"

 

"Coco there's no worrying about that, because she doesn't want to talk to me."

 

"Typical white boy." 

 

He winces to dismiss what is clearly an attempt to lighten the conversation. He's not in the mood.

"I'm not trying to be dramatic here, or act insecure, it's just the simple truth. If she wanted to talk to me, it would have happened, in a five month window, don't you think ? She knows where my mother lives, she knew very well I wouldn't move from there until mid-September at least. It's alright, I understand why she changed her mind, I don't blame her", he takes in some air because he feels his throat get impossibly tight. "I'm not trying to be self-deprecating, but she just figured I wasn't for her. Like you said, I don't think we'll see her anytime soon."

 

"But what if we do ? "

 

He almost cuts her off :

" _If we do_ , then I --I, I'll let you know."

 

"Well, thanks for _letting me know_. " she lets a few seconds pass, then says: "How are your meetings going ?"

 

He shrugs and winces again, because she picked the second subject he least wanted to talk about. 

 

"They're fine."

 

"You know... it's alright to feel like you're... less _strong_ sometimes."

 

"--I'm good, Coco."

 

 

He gets home to Lando's narrow townhouse by bus. Most of the time, Lando's not home, still Ben tries his best not to stay too long in the living room or the kitchen and goes straight to his room.

Ben pays him a small portion of the rent. 

It's temporary, until he finds his own place.

 

He tries not to think too much about the fact that it's been temporary for the past four months. 

 

 _Also_ , he tries not to think about Rey, and that's just loosing energy over something impossible.

 

He's in his bed, certain now he won't be able to sleep even for one minute.

 

She won't come back to the Blue Cow, but what if he meets her somewhere else ?

 

Damn Colette and her fucking common sense. 

 

He has to know what to do if it happens. Should he just ignore her ? How would that work ? 

No, he'd have it in him to talk to her, surely. A few banalities, to show her she doesn't have to fear anything from him, that he isn't mad, he isn't, and he isn't sad - _he isn't_.

He tries out a few sentences, and as he does he can't help but picture her stuttering in response, apologizing over nothing, blushing over nothing, blinking up at him, and _goddamn it this was a bad fucking idea -_ \--

 

" _Fuck_ !" he spits in the silence of his room.  

 

He'll know what to do when the moment comes, he thinks, comforted at least by the fact it likely won't happen again anytime soon. 

 

 

 

Or so he thinks, which is why it's all the more surprising to him when he sees her behind the counter the next day around nine thirty, as he looks past an opening of the heating bin. 

 

 

" _What--_ ", he says through gritted teeth out of disbelief. 

 

 

She seems as nervous as ever, standing in front of the counter and not daring to move, or almost not knowing how to anymore, just waiting in what seems to be sheer agony.

 

Colette's away in the freezer -not that he immediately thinks of sending her. 

 

 

He takes off his hairnet, inhales deeply, frustrated when it doesn't do anything to calm his heart as he walks to go around the separation to get behind the counter. 

 

The second he appears, she stiffens and stares at him, mouth opened in what he assumes is an attempt at saying _hello_. But nothing gets out.

 

He on the other hand, is able to speak this time. 

 

"Hello, Rey."

 

"Hi", he hears her breathe out, before she clearly struggles to take in some air. 

 

He lets a few seconds pass by, as she blinks at the ceiling then the floor, and it's so unatural the way she does it that it prompts him to actually look where she's looking at to check if she has in fact spotted something weird. But no, there's no leak at the ceiling, no snake on the ground. She just doesn't know where to look, as usual. 

 

He clenches his jaw. _He didn't make her come here._

 

"Can I help you with anything ?" he finally asks. The typical customer-ready question sounds colder than he had anticipated it would, and he has to silently handle how it hurts to see her swallow hard, her eyes downcast.

 

She clears her throat carefully, opening her mouth, then blinks a few times like she changed her mind. She says finally:

 

"Yes, I --I'd like to place an order."

 

 

He looks at her pointedly, although she doesn't look at him, her eyes on the counter, her breathing a bit unsteady. 

 

"You'd like to place an order", he repeats, incredulous. 

 

She shifts from one foot to the other, putting imaginary strands behind her ear, before she allows herself the smallest nod. 

 

He grits his teeth and touches the screen in front of him.

 

"Fine. What would you like ?"

 

He waits, his index a few inches above the screen, still looking at her. 

 

She's really looking down now, her whole body still. She shakes her head a bit, without saying anything, so he just waits some more, until he finally hears her say under her breath:

 

"No, I-- I -forget it. I changed my mind."

 

She's not leaving though, and he feels he's too touched by her evident struggle yet too mad at her to end up saying anything satisfying, so he figures he should take the lead once more.

 

"Look, I'll cut the sadness contest short -I have work to do, so... Come back tomorrow why don't you", and he wants to swallow back the sarcastic comment but too late, clenching his jawat how he's not strong enough to talk even a little bit harshly to her. 

 

Just like that, he leaves her there, his heart rate going up the second he doesn't have her in front of him for some reason, and he has to sit, so he goes into the manager's office.

 

Except by doing so he ends up facing the black and white surveillance video of the lobby, from a camera placed above the counter. 

 

 

He gets slightly closer to the screen, as he watches her stand there.

He can't see her face properly, can only see she's not moving for a good minute; but then finally, she does, to turn and leave. 

 

 

What he feels has no name -it comes from too many places at once. He rubs his face with both his hands.

 

 

 

The next morning, she doesn't come, and _he's foolish enough to feel disappointed_.

 

It's July all over again. 

 

He knows he's got an apparent scowl on his face he's not skilled enough to hide from Colette. But she ignores it. 

 

He's crouching behind the counter around nine thirty, trying to see if he can find any baking parchment in the small cupboards there, of if he'll need to go get some on the first floor. When he stands up, his back to the counter, he looks down at the papers in his hands, trying to figure out if those will do fine because they seem slightly different than what they usually use. 

 

He hears someone clear their throat behind him. 

 

He turns around, and his eyes widen. 

 

At the largest table in the center of the lobby, a few feet from the counter, standing and sitting, all facing him, maybe _fifteen teenagers_ , who all stare at him without a word, not even talking among themselves.

 

 

"Da fuck -- ?" He mutters low, frozen. 

 

 

Several of them look him up and down, only moving their eyes, and none of them speak in the quietness of the restaurant. 

 

He didn't even hear them enter, when the fuck did they come in ? 

 

He counts them quickly in his head. 

_...fourteen, fifteen, sixteen._

 

Aren't they supposed to be at school ? 

 

 

 

"Wouuuld... you like to order ?" he asks. 

 

They keep staring at him, not bothering to answer that. 

 

He almost shrugs, and turns around to slip the papers he’s still got in his hands through an opening to slide them to the kitchen, when he thinks he hears one casually say behind him, not high enough to have been meant to be heard by him:

 

"--with his big-ass ears."

 

He turns around once more to try to catch who's talking, but they're all just staring at him still. Just when he thinks he's not gonna get anything from them, one Latina girl in the middle of all the others stands up and states loud and clear, like it's very common for her to do so: 

 

 

"Watch out, you little bitch. We're legion."

 

 

And with those words, they all slowly rise up as if on cue, to then proceed and get out of the restaurant without a word. 

 

 

He blinks :

"What --in the ---shit ???"

 

 

Only then does he notice Colette's standing behind the bin in the kitchen, watching the whole scene happen. 

 

 

"What'd you do white boy ?"

 

 

" _Nothing_ , I don't know who the fuck they are !" he protests. 

 

 

 

This weird experience puts him in a welcome haze, just what he needs to forget about Rey for maybe an hour or two. 

 

But at twelve thirty, the restaurant is full of people coming and going, the orders pile up on their screen, and so it's about a miracle that he spots her between all the bodies moving between him and her when he slides another burger down the bin.  

 

She's sitting at the table near the bay window without any food, a book opened before her, but she's playing with a strand of hair, her gaze unfocused somewhere on the table, lifting her eyes up from time to time to briefly look at the people around.

 

 

 He feels a sudden and potent heat run through his entire body.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9PvIIn6cc1M


	18. Guess who's back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey baby, you've been awfully quiet

 

 

In what can be called a post-festive New Year mood, a small town can only seem more deserted than usual.

 

It's the case here. The streets seem to be emptier than ever. It could also only be the winter. People stay in. 

 

Not Rey. 

 

Currently, she's gripping the steering wheel of her car, parked on the far end of the parking lot of the Blue Cow. It's only eight forty-five in the morning. She _knows_ she shouldn't be here. 

 

She can see her breath in the cold air, and her nose is threatening to fall off. _None of this is worth the trouble;_  she means that -until she sees him. 

 

He's around the corner already, a black beanie on, hands in his pockets, walking toward the back entrance. 

 

The first time she sees him get off the bus, her immediate thought is to go and  offer to pick him up every morning to drive him to work. 

 

Then she remembers there's actually a whole reality out there, molded by things that happened and things that didn't, and that she won't ever be able to talk to him like she once could. 

 

 

That thought alone should make her stop coming here. But guess who's back every day ?

 

 

Thankfully, she never has classes in the morning. Still she's supposed to be correcting assignments she should have given back her students ages ago. Instead, this is what she does -this is what she's done for the past ten days.

 

 

Ten days ago, a colleague innocently asked if she wanted to go grab a bite with her in town. 

Rey has always prepared her own meals in advance, to eat alone at her desk, and she knows she has a  Tupperware in the break room fridge waiting for her, but for some reason she accepts, not suspecting that everything's about to be turned upside down.

 

She gets in Rose's car. Rose teaches physics, and she seems like a quiet person herself, yet Rey never really got the chance to know her better despite the fact they've been teaching at the same school for two years. She'd like to think it's because of their mismatched schedules, but she knows her shyness is yet again to blame. Rose has invited her countless times to join her and other colleagues for a drink.  

Then again, she's more honest with herself now about the reason why she wouldn't go get a drink -with anyone. 

But having a meal she can do. The Blue Cow isn't exactly her choice, but she certainly isn't about to say anything against it. 

 

It's crowded when they get there. Another reason for her to hate this place, aside from the kind of food they offer. Rose on the other hand seems delighted. 

They get in line, and when it's their turn to order, Rey looks up at the menus once more. She thought long and hard during their wait about what she was going to get but she's got so little appetite for what they offering that she finds she actually can't decide yet. The employee looks at her with tired eyes, and she feels she's panicking a little, so she decides to just pick anything. 

Just as she's about to speak, she hears his voice. 

 

 

"Colette, two ! Bring _two_ , not just one !"

 

 

 

She's _certain_ it's him, still at first she tells herself she thinks it's him only because she so badly wants to hear his voice again. It has happened often enough in the past five months. She'd see a tall dark-haired man in the street his back to her, and her heart would jump, until he'd turn and she'd try to push down the pain of being reminded she'll likely won't ever see him again.  

There's no room for doubt when another man from the kitchen shouts in return: 

 

"She can't hear you, Solo !"

 

Rey's frozen, so much so she doesn't any strenght left to be embarrassed about how she's making the cashier wait, and also her colleague, who's just scanning her face right now. 

But she's rendered even more unable to do anything when he actually _appears_ behind the counter, eyebrows frowned as he dodges the other employees moving every which way to prepare the orders, to go past them and get to wherever he's trying to get to, another area customers can't see. For several seconds, he's _there_ , only three feet away from her maybe, just the time he needs to take a few steps, then he's out of her sight again.

 

"Chicken wings", she blurts out when he's gone. 

 

The employee seems unfazed. "Okay, how many ?"

 

"Uh, ten."

 

"It's either six, nine or twelve."

 

"Nine, _nine_."

 

"Fries and drink with that ?"

 

" _No !_ ", she almost shouts, and she knows it's that bad because Rose opens her eyes wide. "No," she repeats a bit lower, "thank you, that'll be all."

She waits for her order, her heart pounding, and she can't answer Rose when she's asked if everything's alright because _there he is again_ , dodging his colleagues once more to return to the kitchen, passing yet again just a few feet from her, so close she could almost bend over the counter and touch him, or at least he certainly could, with his long arms. He passes by, completely unaware she's breathing the same air as him, and disappears. 

 

She's in a haze for the next few hours. Somehow the first coherent thought she has about him is that he's put on some weight. His cheeks are fuller, and his steps seemed heavier, although that might only be due to the work. 

 

The feeling is so alive, so strong then, that she wonders how she could ever think it was gone.  

 

All her effort went to shit in a matter of seconds.

 

And to think she didn't even touch him, he didn't even talk to her; she just _saw_ him.  

 

She thought she was finally getting her head out of the water, but she's back in it tenfold, sinking. 

 

She manages to resist for three days before going back to the Blue Cow, three days during which she blatantly lies to herself, and when she does go back, she can't get out of her car. 

 

 

So she stays in there and thinks back on the past five months. 

 

She thinks of how she only wanted to take some time to think at first, to find in her what was necessary to share with him about herself, how she needed that time to most importantly try and stop thinking she was bound to see the people she loved disappear unexpectedly. How days turned into weeks, how she started to feel like she wasn't going to be able to face the shame of her sudden and unexplained absence, how the more time passed the less she could bring herself to try.

 

Then she thinks of how she defensively tried to convince herself she'd just forget him, trying to make it happen by thinking he'd have no trouble forgetting her himself, that they'd both go back to their lives more or less unharmed.

 

 

She stays in her car. 

She's not gonna just stay in her car forever every day, she's not, but she can't go in either. 

 

 

Until one day she can -and it's a catastrophe, _like she knew it would be_. 

 

 

She went in over her head, apparently, since there are no words getting out of her mouth when she finally faces him.

 

 

But because she's an idiot, she has the _gall_ to believe there might be a misunderstanding and she comes back the next day around the same time. 

Only to have her fears confirmed. He doesn't want to see her. 

 

 

She thinks she's gonna call in sick the next day.

She can't act or speak coherently, surely she won't be of any service in a classroom -meaning even less than usual. 

 

 

But she's forced to face the fact that she's not sick, not at all. 

 

Because she's back in that damn parking lot the very next day. 

 

And the next day. And the next day after that. _And the next day_.

 

 

Every day, she waits for the restaurant to be full around noon to enter it.

She sits at a two seater table near the bay window with a book she doesn't read, because all she does is try to catch glimpses of him. She can see parts of his shirt through the openings where they pile up the burgers ready to be served, between the counter area and the kitchen. 

 

She waits until she sees his hand push the burgers away from him for his colleagues to catch them more easily in their haste. 

 

When it's Christmas -not every day - he passes behind the counter, and she gets to see all of him. 

 

There's a lot of people crowding the lobby, so she can't tell if he really never saw she was there, or if he _pretends_ she's not, and that last possibility makes her feel like she can't breathe. 

One day, she can't go because the principal approached her and three other colleagues about behavioral problems in their respective classrooms, so she ends up stuck with him talking about just that for an hour and a half.

Something that feels a lot like despair grows in her chest just from not being able to have her everyday small dose of him, then panic brews in her soon after, from having that kind of reaction, from feeling her day was ruined only because she missed a chance to dedicate her lunch to creeping on a man that doesn't want anything to do with her.

 

And it causes her to resolutely decide not to go anymore starting the next day because she should move on. She should.

Until noon, she actually believes she's gonna make it.

 

But as she walks to the teacher's break room she slows down, her head low despite the fact she's the only one to know why she should feel ashamed asshe goes back on her way and soon finds herself almost rushing to her car, to drive to town and to the Blue Cow parking lot, feeling in that moment like a complete failure.

 

She sits at her usual spot, resigned, utterly ashamed at herself, and opens up the book she never reads a single word from, to stare at the page and obsess over the situation some more while children shout and people chat loudly around her.

 

She looks up to catch a glimpse of his forearm, his hand. She doesn't get to see him behind the counter the whole hour she watches, making sure to look back at her book every time.

 

At some point, she feels a presence near her, and she thinks a customer wants her to leave them the spot since she's not eating, because it's happened before, so she lifts up her eyes, ready to apologize.

 

 

But _it's him_ , standing in his uniform a foot away from her, and he's staring pointedly at her, almost _scowling_.

 

She feels shame burn her whole, her face incredibly hot. She closes her book in a hurry, fumbling, and stuttering the start of a series of _sorries_ , ready to get up and leave, when he cuts her off with a harsh tone:

 

 

"Why didn't you come yesterday ?"

 

 

She widens her eyes at him, somehow able to look straight at him from confusion.

She thinks she misheard through all the noise, but then, "Why did you come yesterday" wouldn't make sense either. So she stutters:

 

"W-what ?"

 

 

" _Why didn't you come yesterday_ ?" he repeats more slowly, face unmoved, still looking at her without blinking.

 

 

"I, I had a meeting with the --the principal, and --"

 

 

She doesn't get to finish her sentence, because a man yell from the kitchen through the noise :

 

 

" _Where the fuck is Solo ??_ " and he turns his head toward it. 

 

 

He then sets his sight back on her once more with what looks like an impassive expression, and leaves without a word, making his way through the customers. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this from France (with love). 
> 
> I'd be curious to know where you're reading it from ? If you don't find that to be too invasive -obviously I won't be mad if you prefer not to say
> 
> I hope you liked that chapter, see you tomorrow for another one =)
> 
>  
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUUfCmb-Mdo


	19. It won't happen again

 The heating bin is the only spot in the kitchen from where it's possible for the cooks to see the lobby.

 

Ben tries to be as discreet as possible, but he knows Colette has already noticed. 

  
He's around the heating bin too much, has developed a sudden obsession with the timers. He's _very_ rigorous now about how the burgers are aligned in there. He checks the temperature of the bin constantly, when he's not making sure the packaging is well closed around the food. 

He acts like he hasn't noticed how she stares at him pointedly every time he gets near it.

 

She finally speaks one day as she sees him peek through an opening of the bin again. 

 

"White boy," he hears through the din, the beeping and the frying.

 

He stands right back up, like a ten year old who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Despite the obviousness of what's been happening the past few days, he's stubbornly clinging onto appearances for some reason.

 

"Yes ?" he asks, hoping his tone remains somewhat a casual one.

 

She doesn't even look at him, eyes on the buns she's sliding in the toasters before she wipes the worktop clean with a cloth: 

 

"If you're finished singing lullabies to the burgers, maybe help me with the orders ?"

 

She's twisting her mouth to keep from smiling, even more so when he protests:

"I wasn't  _singing lullabies_ , I was --" The hesitation is even more telling than the rest, yet he stands by his first impulse and delivers a weak excuse anyway: "--making sure they weren't cold." 

 

She's still not looking at him, enjoying this way too much.

 

"You're awfully conscientious nowadays," she states.

 

He opens a bag of patties: "I've always been conscientious, am I to learn you never believed in me ?"

 

"Oh no, _I do_ , but, I mean --you've upped your game, you know ? --How come ?"

 

"I'm dreaming big, Colette," he replies dryly. "Maybe I'll be shift manager one day. The sky's the limit."

 

"Of course."

 

They're back to back in the small space between the machines, him garnishing the buns, her flipping over the patties on the grill. A few seconds pass and he thinks she dropped it, when he hears her deadpan, almost too low for him to catch: 

 

"--it certainly has nothing to do with anybody's awkward ass." 

 

He chews the inside of his cheek. He knows he should ignore her, but he mumbles before he can stop himself:

 

"...whose awkward ass ?" 

 

She sighs.

 

" _Whose indeed_."

 

 

 

Sometimes she's late, and he notices right away.

 

He hates how it makes him feel. He hates that he's scared something happened to her, then he hates how he's so quick to reason that actually, she doesn't come here for him, why would he even think that ? 

 

She's here to _read_. 

 

Because it's a good spot to read. 

 

Some people enjoy reading in busy, crowded spaces, they do. 

 

It happens several times that he curses under his breath, unable to keep it in as Colette raises an eyebrow at him, then tries to hide that he did so because random people -old couples, a mom and her little girl- sit at what he's already referring to in his mind as _her_ table before she arrives. 

 

He sees her turn around looking for another spot, way too often choosing one that's  _out of his sight_. 

 

He tries to lie to himself at first, tries to ignore how that hour of the day is the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up, but soon he prefers to be in denial about the _reason_ he waits for it every day with such impatience. Because it's easier.

 

So he tells himself he's just _intrigued_.

 

 _That's another word for it_ , deadpans an asshole in his head. 

 

Then he proceeds to act like he's curious, that's all.

He's just curious to know what's the point of her sitting there, when she's not eating, not talking to anyone ? 

 

Besides reading in a welcoming environment of course.

 

And is it him or does he never get to see her turning a single page of her book ? 

 

 _What kind of book is she reading ?_ he wonders; what he considers to be one of his weakest moments.  

 

 

One day, she doesn't come. 

 

And that --that's an icecold shower. A proper reality check, if he knows one. 

All his fears are fighting for his attention. 

 

First of which, _something happened to her_ , and he has no way of knowing what. He'll have to go pound on Kenobi's door to find out -if that old fuck hasn't died in the meantime, he can't even be sure he hasn't.

But then he wants to buy that she's just really late this time, or she sat somewhere already, just not at her usual spot. 

And so without even saying anything to Colette about what he's doing, he leaves the kitchen and pass the counter to go walk around in the lobby, turning his head in all directions from one table to the next and trying to be efficient about it since he has to hurry before the assistant manager notices he's gone. 

 

She's not here. She's nowhere.

 

He clenches his jaw, a lump forming in his throat, bitter to swallow. 

 

He returns to the kitchen, overtaken at once by familiar beliefs he's fed for the past five months, about her finally realizing just how much of a loser he is, about how she was never actually interested in him, all these scenarios having already played time and time again on a loop since she left. Why does he need a reminder exactly ? Is he trying to hit a new low ? 

 

He's unable to care when Jefferson, the assistant manager in charge of the lunch shifts on Wednesday and Thursday, comes after him, gritting his teeth:

 

"Could you maybe be so kind as to explain to me why you thought judicious to go and have a little walk in the middle of rush hour, Solo ?"

 

Colette watches the scene. She knows it's for the best if she stays silent. Defending him would do no good for his situation, and she told him plenty of times what to say.

 

The assistant manager comments on his own rhetorical question, making sure his cook doesn't try to deny the accusation: 

 

"I _saw_ you through the security camera."

 

Ben doesn't look at Jefferson, because if he does he might elbow him in the mouth. He swallows back his pride and just states:

 

"It won't happen again."

 

" _Damn right_ it won't," retorts Jefferson, before he throws one last glance at Colette and finally steps out of the kitchen. 

 

She figures it's enough for her colleague to learn his lesson, so she doesn't add anything to that.

 

 

 

 

Except it's not enough, because he does it again the next day. 

 

That's all he can do, when he sees her whereas not expecting to. She is seated at her usual spot. 

 

He's feeling a mixture of too many emotions for him to be able to exactly make out how he feels about her being back. And he tries to resist all he can, but he predictably fails, and ends up next to her. 

He means to ask _why do you keep coming here_ , because that's really what his soul needs to _know_ , that's what he needs to _hear_. He's desperate for it. Depending on what the answer is, she could say the words he's run after for several months in the cruel daydreams his brain has tortured him with. 

But because he knows he wouldn't have the strenght to endure any other answer than _the one_ , because he wouldn't even endure her _hesitating_ even, he asks instead why she didn't come the day before. 

 

How _easily_ he's back into it all over again. His relief of seeing her back at that table is _completely_ trampled by the absolute dread he feels about depending so much on what in his anger he chooses to call her whims -even though she tells him she didn't come the day before because she got stuck at work.

 

He's not gonna be able to take it this time. He's really not. It hasn't happened yet, and even Colette looks at him like she's seen a ghost when he comes back to the kitchen. 

 

Jefferson follows suit, almost out of his mind:

"Are you fucking kidding me ? Get the fuck out of my kitchen, be back tomorrow ready to actually work, you moron. There's no way you're getting paid for today."

 

Colette already made sure Ben knows what to expect. 

_"There are things some of your superiors will say to you, that they won't say to other employees. They'll feel comfortable saying those things, because you're an ex-convict, and they're counting on you being desperate enough to put up with their shit no matter what. I'm asking you not to pay attention. Try to always remember you need this job, kid. Please. I got too used to having you around already."_

 

In that moment though, it's really hard to keep his breathing steady with Jefferson waiting for him to move, and he looks at her in the hope he'll find in her gaze the strenght to only walk away like he's been "asked". 

Thankfully, it works. She puts all the pleading she can put in her eyes as she looks up at him. 

"Go on, kid. Wait for me upstairs."

He swallows and nods, before turning, without a word to his assistant manager. Jefferson has the very good instinct to not add anything else.

 

He drifts back into a mess of doubts and dark thoughts that bring up only resent. That's what he gets, for waiting on Rey. 

He won't be useless to Colette any more, he decides. Last summer won't happen again.

 

 

He has the opportunity to back up his resolution as soon as the next day. 

At nine thirty, Rey's standing behind the counter.

It's Colette who sees her, and she draws his attention by pointing silently at Rey.

He inhales deeply, his heart pounding already, then goes around the separation to get to the counter.

 

She seems to gather all the courage she has in a second, letting all her words fall in a row like she's afraid she won't be able to speak once again if she doesn't get them out in a hurry -she doesn't even say hello:

 

"Do you --When does your shift end ?"

 

It's out of his mouth like he rehearsed this a million times: 

 

" _Why_ ?"

 

He didn't expect her to be struck by just that word, and he really should have. 

 

She's struggling for air already, completely caught off guard. 

She looks at the wall, and tries to speak, her throat dry: 

"Can --Do you --"

 

Now he's the one afraid he won't follow through if she speaks any further. Her social inaptitude serves him well this time. 

"I can't, I can't, uh, do anything afterward."

 

She closes her mouth at that, pressing her lips together.

 

"I have to see my mother this afternoon," he adds.

 

He doesn't. He hasn't bothered to go see Leia in over two months. 

 

He expects it's more than enough to see her on her way, but she fires another bullet his way, unaware of just how much he has to fight against all he is to dodge it.

 

"Later tonight, maybe ?" she murmurs.

 

She looks up at him, and then _instantly_ down.

 

He's sure because his face told her all she needed to know.

 

She closes her eyes, to keep from seeing more of something she doesn't want to see. 

 

"I, I..." he stutters. "I have a meeting tonight."

 

He can't help but state dryly what brings to mind some of his unhappiest memories:

 

"AA."

 

He knows they're both thinking about the last day she went to his house. He doesn't wait any longer to basically dismiss her:

 

"Then I'll be too tired."

 

She doesn't seem to be listening anymore. She just seems to be trying to process information her brain doesn't want to process. She's looking down, and manages to murmur once more, nodding: "Right". 

 

He tried to convince himself for the past few hours that it'd be a _brave thing_ to finally stand up for himself, but he can see now how ridiculous - _ridiculous-_ this idea is as he's facing her. Her hands are trembling, her mouth downturned in the saddest frown there is. Still he says nothing when she turns and walks out without another word.

 

 

 

The next day, she doesn't come.

 

 

 

 

What has he done ?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=juKGjUGPyHs
> 
> I was so so so SO HAPPY that you decided to indulge my curiosity yesterday by telling me where you were while reading this fic, and I can't really express how thrilling it was for me to have you beautiful people take the time to let me know, I swear this was the best idea ever I wasn't PREPARED, seriously
> 
> India, New Zealand, Alaska, Mexico, the Philippines  
> I mean holy shit people we're a goddamn army  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> So now all I'll need are your social security numbers, your mothers' middle name and pictures of both sides of your credit cards, if you don't mind too much I hope that's okay for me to ask


	20. A toddler

 

It's been three days since the last time Rey came to the Blue Cow, and Ben can feel Colette is waiting for him to be ready to talk to her, but there's just no fucking way. There's no way this time he'll say anything.

 

Does he really  need to anyway ?

 

She tries several times to get a smile out of him. It's not long before she gives up entirely. He keeps on fucking up the orders, and she's constantly trying to cover for him. He mumbles _sorry_ after _sorry_ , although there's no irritation coming from her. 

 

When she tries to make him eat with her, he doesn't falter this time.

 

"No Coco I'm gonna head home."

 

She doesn't insist the first day, or the second or the third.

That leaves him plenty of time to feel sorry for himself. 

 

 

Some frowns just aren't supposed to be on Rey's face.

 

He can't believe he put them there. 

 

He's feeling trapped again, only now there's no house arrest, no one that left him. 

 

At some point he has the fucking _gall_ to play into sarcasm in his own head, thinking that  _at least now_  he knows why she's not coming back, but he gets ten times the pain just for that, despite the outcome being the same.

 

Because this time he's supposed to live with the fact she won't come back  _because of him_.

 

Being the cause of his own pain makes it unbearable, but mostly, it's  _shameful_  to have made an attempt at revenge; shameful that he made an attempt at revenge, and got nothing - _nothing_  out of it. 

 

What he  _was_  getting he pushed it away, like a toddler who's not hungry, all the while knowing damn well he's starving. He's been starving for the past five months. 

 

He walked all over the most defenceless person ever.

 

Oh but look who's the last one standing. He's a fucking hero. 

 

 

It almost looks like Colette gave up on him for a few days, until at the end of one of their shift she gently grabs both his arms to have him face her.

They're in the middle of the way, not quite out of the kitchen, and he catches Pedro, another cook, looking at them like he wants them gone more than anything. 

 

Colette takes in some air. She looks like she tried ways to say what she want to say in her head but couldn't come up with any good ones. Finally she starts:

 

"Ben."

 

He's always startled when she uses his real name, not  _white boy_ , not  _kid_ , but Ben. She says it so rarely he's amost surprised that she knows it. It gets his attention like nothing else.

 

"I wasn't going to ask you, because it's at a bar--"

 

He stiffens. He sees in her eyes that she thinks it's because of her mentionning a bar, but not at all. He just knows now that she wants him to go out for some reason, and he really, really doesn't want to. He's already trying to think of something to decline the invitation. 

 

"It's --it's a quiet place, really, there's never many people there. I don't intend to drink." she hurries to add.

 

She phrases it like that, although what she means is she's  _willing_  not to drink. He's not mad but feeling like he's keeping people from having fun is another reason for him to decline.  

 

"Please, kid, I've wanted to see you outside of work for a bit, now. We're more than colleagues, right ?" 

 

"Are you hitting on me Colette ? Is that what's going on ?" he asks with a straight face. Somehow joking is still possible; the only difference is he gets no joy from it now. 

 

He thought a punch from her in the chest would sting less, not because she doesn't have the strength but because he was counting on her being gentle.

Fuck, she wasn't. 

 

"Out of the way, you two." mumbles Ramirez with the weakest voice there is, with a slack expression of his own. 

 

"Ramirez, man, you startled me" Ben deadpans. 

 

 

They head toward the stairs, but she stops him before, taking both his hands now. 

 

"Ben, please. You know you need it.  _I_  need it, I can't stand to see you like this, I mean for how long ?"

 

"It's only been a week, you'd be surprised."

 

"That's not funny." She just states that like it's a fact. Probably because she means it. 

 

"Roasting me isn't the way to go, Coco. You're hurting my feelings."

 

That doesn't get a smile out of her either. If she wants a serious answer, she's gonna get one after all.

 

"You know you don't have to babysit me Colette, I have a sponsor for that."

 

She lets go of his hands in an instant and narrows her eyes. Even in the beginning of them working together he never saw that look on her face. 

 

" _How fucking dare you ?_  "

 

He widens his eyes. He feels like he just woke up. 

 

She's pressing her lips together now, obviously to keep meaner things in. She looks down shaking her head, apparently thinking better of it than to add anything, and gets her phone out of her apron's pocket instead, unlocking it and handing it to him: 

 

 

"Type in the adress, Ben. I'll pick you up at seven."

 

 

 

 

A few times in the hours that follow he thinks he's not gonna answer the phone when she'll be downstairs, that he's gonna ghost her. That might me the worst idea that ever crossed his mind. He's an idiot but maybe not that much of an idiot. 

 

He gets down the stairs like he's going to his own execution. 

 

He looks for her car, spotting her old red honda she's calling a vehicule parked a bit more down the street.

He gets in. 

 

Right away, she picks up their conversation from earlier where they left it: 

 

"You don't have to stay long. Even just an hour, it's fine. I'll drive you back."

 

He looks in the distance: "It's okay Coco I'll take the bus."

 

She doesn't answer that but they both know she won't let him.

 

She gets the car started:

 

"I'm really happy you're coming."

 

He stays silent, since he's not about to start a bad habit and lie to her like he does his mother all the time by saying he's happy too.

 

"I hope you won't mind the company of my son," she says, "he's the one I was supposed to join in the first place. I don't see him much ever since he started college."

 

"I  _do_  mind, Coco, I thought I was your only baby boy, turns out it was all a lie."

 

Now she laughs. It'd be a blatant lie to say it doesn't make him feel slightly better.

 

 

 

She didn't exactly say the truth when she said there'd be not many people, but it's still not crowded to the point they won't be able to have a conversation. Not that he looks forward to that. 

 

He spots Coco's son right away, because he's waving. He's in a booth at the back, with a friend, so now he knows he'll have to deal with  _two_  people he doesn't know. Great.

 

Coco waves back and makes way for both of them through people standing by. 

 

With the noise and because she's focused on getting them there, she doesn't notice when he stops. 

 

There aren't two people at that table, but three. 

 

 

His heart picks up on his shock right away, beating in his chest like there's an imminent danger. Is this a trap ? It can't be, right ? 

 

It's not: Colette arrives at the table smiling politely, then not smiling at all. Her face says everything when she looks up at him where he stayed. She can't mouth "I'm sorry" in front of his son and his friends, but it's just the same, and he hurries to lift his hand to reassure her, shaking his head a bit to let her know that it's fine. 

 

Even though it's not fine at all. He's sure now he won't stay a whole hour. 

 

His steps to the table aren't difficult to make because he wants to avoid her -if anything they lead him to her like there's no other way to go. If he was romantic he'd say every time he walks, it should be to her. 

No: they're difficult to make because she's her back to him, and there's no way for him to know in advance her precise reaction to seeing him, although he knows already it's gonna be a bad one. Also, he's gonna have to touch her shoulder to get her attention. He can't breathe. 

 

She's not talking, and she apparently hasn't touched her drink yet, something with some orange juice in it. Clearly not the life of the party at that table.

 

He's certain he looks like a fucking idiot to the two others, approaching her from behind like she's a fucking time bomb. 

 

Their expression must have been a tell, because she turns her head just as he's about to touch her.

 

If she was in her thoughts a second before, she's wide awake now, her eyes going as wide as can be, as she freezes, then starts to stutter a bit more loudly than usual, certainly because of the shock, grabbing her coat already:

 

"I, I, I'm sorry, I didn't know, I--" she looks at Colette then him again: "I had no idea, I'm so sorry--"

Of course she'd start by apologizing. 

 

 

"I hope you're sorry, Rey. Stop following me."

 

 

It's such an inappropriate occasion to joke around, not to mention he's too broken inside to let anything soften his traits even a little bit to indicate he is indeed joking, so naturally there's no way in the world she among all people could laugh at that.

She takes it so seriously in fact, that she opens her mouth soundlessly staring at him, and he realizes just how much his joke didn't sound like one at all when he sees the face Colette is making. 

 

"I'm not, I'm --I'm not following you", the poor thing tries to assure him. 

 

Jesus, what did he just do to her ?  _Full speed astern you imbecile_.

 

"No, no,  _Rey_ " he tries to interrupt her suttering, his hands up to calm her; "It was a bad joke, I know you're not following me."

 

He stills, his head's buzzing after that last word, and he'll be the only one to know why. Another word almost slipped out of his mouth, a word he almost didn't catch before it'd pass his lips, and the thought leaves him breathless.

 

 _I know you're not following me, angel_.

 

"Oh," she breathes, then stands up fumbling with her coat and  _that_ brings him back with her.

 

"Please, Rey, don't." He tries not to pay attention to the other two, who have no idea what's going on. 

 

Colette's son frowns : "Where you going ?", but Rey doesn't hear him, or doesn't listen to him. 

 

Ben takes her wrist then, and that gets her to stop in the second. He doesn't have a tight hold of it, but he guesses them touching has maybe a similar effect on her as it has on him. He can't speak for two seconds.

 

"Please,  _stay_ , you're gonna make me feel bad." That's not the right thing to say, but too late, so he looks for the right words now: "I --I won't be here long, I --I have a bus to catch anyway. Don't leave because of me."

 

She seems unable to decide between doing what he tells her out of the guilt he tried to make her feel, or if she's gonna go with her instincts. Those are apparently screaming at her to leave. 

 

The guilt wins this time. She's sitting down. 

 

Such a smooth start for them all, this little night out. 

 

He sits at her right on another chair, while the three other are in the booth on the other side of the table. It's for the best if he doesn't see her probably. Only then does he realize he didn't say _Hello_. 

 

"Uh, I'm Ben.", he blurts out awkwardly, extending his hand to shake. 

 

"Finn," says Colette's son shaking his hand a bit too enthusiastically, smiling. 

 

"Rose," waves his friend. 

 

They don't seem to be at their first drink, because they forget all about what happened not a minute after, giggling for no reason and teasing Colette, who seems to be seduced quite quickly. It makes for a striking contrast between their side of the table and the one Rey and him share. She doesn't dare to even move. Her friends don't pay much attention to that. Are they even friends ? 

 

She's not drinking, prefering to look down at her glass, seems like. 

 

He's really not gonna be here long. He's trying to ponder if he should even get something to drink. 

 

A waitress arrives on that thought. 

 

"What do you want ?" asks Colette.

 

"There's no way you're gonna pay, Coco." he shoots back. 

 

She lets out a short tchipetou. It's been a while. 

 

"What do you want ?" she repeats. 

 

He inhales, trying not to care if Rey reacts as he speaks: 

 

"A coke please."

 

"Same," nods Colette at the waitress. 

 

The word's barely out before Finn makes a face: 

 

" _Booo_ , party poopers !"

 

Well that was to be expected. They're at a bar after all.

 

Finn turns to his mother: "Mom, seriously ?"

 

Lightning's coming out of Colette's eyes: "I'm trying to be mindful of Ben's sobriety, Finn.", she articulates slowly, then lower with an exasperated voice: "Son I've told you numerous times."

 

But Finn's already mortified: " _Right_ , right, shit I'm sorry. AA guy"; although he says it to Colette, not to her colleague, and Ben tries not to be hurt by him being referred to as  _AA guy_. Colette's embarrassed enough.

 

Rose picks up on his discomfort, and engage the conversation to make it sound like it's a subject they're at ease with.

 

"How long have you been...  ?" she doesn't want to say the word for some reason. 

 

Once again, he tries not to pay attention to how this exchange may be difficult for Rey to witness; although he feels he should be the one to be hurt by it, not her. 

 

"If I'm counting since I've been out, and I guess I should, then ten months at the end of January." 

 

" --Since you've been out ?" asks Finn candidly. 

 

It got out before Ben took the time to think. Colette's sipping her coke. 

 

Well. There are two people who know at this table already. 

 

"Out of prison, yes. "

 

Finn stands back a little, and Rose is much better at hiding her discomfort once more.

This is going so well. 

 

"Oh." Finn manages to say. "Then you should also count your sentence, right ?"

 

A telling silence follows, as Ben tries to find the right words.  

 

He hates that he has to make it so hard for all of them, but he doesn't feel like lying.

 

"No, actually, I shouldn't. Some of us were able to... smuggle things inside."

 

Rose drinks out of nervousness. But then she sounds genuine when she says: 

 

"Well. AA's a blessing. It saved my sister's best friend's life."

 

They're all oblivious about what this discussion mean to Rey and him. He thinks since they never talked about it together when they should have, maybe now's as good a time as any. 

 

"It's, it's -uh. I don't agree with everything, but..." he swallows. " I never intended to cut out alcohol completely from my life, and I guess I was wrong about that. "

 

He doesn't have the time to try and see what those words do to her, if they do anything, because Rose is quick to ask:

 

"What don't you agree with?"

 

He shakes his head looking in front of him, frowning, like he's trying to give a short answer about something he has tones of things to say:

 

"Just... the whole... putting your addiction in God's hands... situation. Or: "superior power", I mean. Although that's left to interpretation what that power is, it still bothers me."

 

" _Right_. People should own their own mistakes." Finn intervenes, with way too much confidence. Ironically, that can only come from him drinking.

 

"Uh,  _no_ , that's not what I meant, I mean they should", he corrects, once more feeling like Rey and him are having another silent conversation in parallel. "It's just-- I don't think it's a good thing to let some people believe they're addicted because God's mad at them." 

 

Finn again: "That's hardly the message, is it ?"

 

"It's not, but --God don't cause addiction."

 

Now he's in too deep to stop.

 

"People cause it." Finn says like he found the correct answer. 

 

Ben blurts it out before he can stop himself: "No."

 

They're taken aback a bit. He tries to show more patience:

 

"I mean that... they're plenty of causes, that's what I mean. You can't tell addicts their sobriety is in a higher power's hands, but you can't tell them they have total control over their addiction either. When you're not educating them about crucial factors at play you let them in the dark, you're not giving them the proper tools to fight against their addiction."

 

"Like what ?" asks Finn because _goddamn it_ he can't let it go.

 

Colette seems fine with the conversation somehow. He talked about it so many times before with her, she must think he has no problem doing so once more, oblivious to the fact that it's a subject he'd like not to dig in too much in front of Rey. 

 

" _Like what_  what ?" he asks back. 

 

"What factors ?"

 

Ben inhales deeply before enumerating: "Social factors, chemical factors. Aggressive marketing, is a good one, in the case of alcohol. Well -- I guess you could say those are the higher powers at work." 

 

"Right, but--" starts again Finn, before Ben cuts him off.

 

"What i'm saying is you can hardly tell a ---freshly immigrated single mother of three who works two jobs that she's got the same means to fight her addiction than the, uh-- wall street fuck boy." 

 

"Right, right. But, still, I think some excuses people make for their behavior are, to say the least, a stretch."

 

Even Rose at this point seems unable to hide her embarrassment, as she takes big gulps of her drink now. 

 

Ben decides he'll be the one to drop it, and lets Finn finish, nodding slowly pursing his lips. 

 

"At some point you gotta face the fact that you're the one hurting everyone around you," Finn says almost casually. "That your addiction is destroying the lives of people that love you." 

 

Finally, that's when Colette intervene.

 

"Son, you have _no-i-dea_ what you're talking about. None."

 

Finn freezes, and because he's looking toward Ben when he says " _shit_ ", it looks like he's realizing how harsh his words were to his mother's colleague, but Ben frowns when Colette's son actually turns to Rey:

 

"I --I didn't want to be direspectful, Rey, I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean--"

 

Rey's eyes go wide again as she looks up at him, then at Rose. 

 

Rose is panicking:  "I just mentionned it quickly to him, without meaning to, I'm so sorry." She turns to her boyfriend: "Are you serious ? Finn."

 

Ben blinks a few times. He can't make sense at all of what's happening. "What ?" he croaks, not loud enough for anyone to hear him, or maybe Rey does, because she stiffens. Colette seems not to care, as she prefers to scold her son a bit more about earlier:

 

"I'd apreciate you not giving away unsolicited opinions son. Maybe Ben isn't the only one who should quit drinking."

 

The three of them are arguing, not paying attention to Rey, or to him, as he repeats a bit louder, although still low, since he's in the dark completely and tries to make sense of it all on his own at the same time: 

 

"What ?" 

 

He dares to briefly look on Rey's side. She's stubbornly looking down. 

 

"I'm sorry, _God_ " insists Finn to the two women as both of them reprimands him for different reasons.

 

Ben bites the inside of his cheek but it's not enough to keep him quiet, and he gives up, really looking at Rey this time:

 

"Rey. Rey. What does he mean, "he didn't want to be direspectful" ?" 

 

He gets interrupted time and time again by the other three, and it doesn't help that Rey looks like she just won't aknowledge him.

 

"What is he talking about ? ---What are they talking about ?"

 

His eyes fall on her glass. Without another hesitation, he takes it and brings it to his nose, sniffing.

 

Finn is the one to fall silent at that, before he frowns, asking hesistantly: "What... is he doing ?'

 

In a second Rey's up, her coat under her arm, before she turns without a word and leave. 

 

As Ben hurries to do the same, following her, he hears Colette's voice behind him:

 

 

"Sit down, son. Let them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving again ! I'll be at my grand-parents', and of course, they don't have internet !  
> I'll be back on Tuesday with a new chapter.  
> Take care in the meantime <3<3<3
> 
> (Also !! I haven't answered to most of the comments about the last chapter yet, because I really don't have the time ! I will though, on Tuesday... I've read all of them and as always, they made my day =D )


	21. A silent goodnight

 

 

 

It's not the right way to go, he knows it isn't, but it's all he can do, so he follows her.

 

She makes her way through people and doesn't stop in front of the bar to face him, as he kind of expected she would.

 

Then he tells himself it makes sense that she doesn't want to talk about it in front of the three others, or even in a bar, or in front of strangers since some people are just standing on the curb smoking, their drinks in hand.

 

He calls her two or three times, loud enough, and she's not far ahead from him so he knows she heard him; she's just not answering.

 

He's trying to bury deep somewhere the thought that she must have talked about it to Finn -or rather Rose but it's the same-, that she talked about it with someone and not with him.

It means he'll have to make peace with the fact that he failed to inspire enough trust in her to confide in him, like he wished he did.

 

Still he says nothing as she's speeding away from the bar: he's hoping she'll stop at some point.

 

 

The street lightsare barely of any help along the empty road, as the night got as dark as ever in the meantime. There's a fair amount of shops on either side, as they're still in the downtown area. All of them have been closed for at least an hour already.

There's no wind, no car driving in the distance, just her footsteps and his echoing slightly, as if they were the only ones left standing. Given the agitation that surrounded them only five minutes ago, it feels like they've fallen into another dimension.

 

 

He notices he forgot his jacket the moment she puts her parka on with shaky hands.

Fuck it. Colette will get it.

 

The silence around them doesn't leave any room for doubt that he's following close behind; she just won't acknowledge it. Her hurried steps is what gives away her being aware he's following her. It's comical in a sens, the way she accelerates the pace -except none of them is in a mood to laugh.

 

 

"Rey."

 

When it's clear to him that she's not gonna stop he accelerates too and puts himself in her way:

 

"Come on, are you really running away from me ?"

 

 

She dodges him, her head down, but he hears as she passes him:

 

"No, I'm not !"

 

He's on her heels easily with his long strides, one for every two quick steps she makes. He's by her side and decides to pay no mind to her denial, as he figures there's no other way to do this but go headfirst:

 

"What was he talking about ?"

 

Now her playing deaf is pissing him off; he changes his strategy completely, letting anger take over:

 

"You --must think I'm a fucking idiot !"

 

That slows her steps to a stop. She can't look at him yet, but she shakes her head, finally giving him a reaction other than just denial; still no words are coming out of her. She tries to speak but as usual, she can't; this time though he shows no patience:

 

"--the questions you've asked me ?"

 

He hopes that afternoon is on her mind as much as it's on his own, because he doesn't want to go further into details and hurt them both unnecessarily. She still has her head down, so he bends to try to look her in the eyes:

   


"Now I see you at a bar and you ordered an orange juice ? --Why didn't you tell me you were an alcoholic?"

  


She jerks her head up finally looking at him:

  


" _Because I'm not !"_

  


 

He straightensand takes a step back. That's the closest to a shout he's ever heard from her. As soon as it's out, it seems her throat is tightening to the point of her working her jaw to get a sound out so he holds his breath.

She takes one or two steps back too, as if the added distance would help her speak.

  


 

"--He was talking about my parents."

  


He blinks. His shoulders drop a bit.

This is not as big a revelation as he imagined it'd be. And it's clearly not as game-changing as if  _she_ was the one who had a problem with alcohol, like he believed she had only a moment ago. In a way, he decides it even makes less sense that  _that's_ what she didn't tell him about.

Far from calming him down, like he hoped a good explanation would have, he keeps his lips in a straight line instead of letting regrettable things spill out, breathing rather heavily through his nose.

 

He doesn't know if she really takes notice, since not a second later she starts walking away again.

 

He's not able to deceive himself for long about him staying there and letting her go: he won't let her walk -home ?- alone. He tells himself it's for her safety, despite knowing very well she's everything but helpless, aside from social interactions. If anything she must be at least ten times more apt than him in all things, and she had a whole life before him where she must have gone home on her own dozens of times -as a kid, even.

 

 

The simple truth is, he wants to walk with her.

 

 

What keeps him from doing that like a normal person, is something ugly inside that tells him she hates him, that she wants him away from her. So he just lets her put a good distance between them before slowly resuming his following with cautious steps. He sees he must be right about her wanting him far from her, since she finally slows down her walking to a normal pace when she doesn't hear him too close behind; like she can finally calm down.

  


"Why aren't you taking your car ?"

  


He's too far from her to be talking that low, but she hears him, and without turning to him, still walking with her head down she says back even lower:

  


"Rose drove me."

  


So she  _is_ walking home.

She stops and turns to him, so immediately he stops where he is too.

 

They look at each other, standing something like sixty feet from one another, if he had to guess. A cat silently crosses the road, disappearing under an iron wicket.

 

He's just gonna be blunt about it; a blunt question is maybe the best way to get a frank answer in return:

 

"Am I scaring you ?"

 

" _No_." she says almost with a scolding tone, like she's mad at him for entertaining the idea. Her mouth is downturned, and she's looking at the ground between them rather than at him, before asking with a smaller voice:

 

 

"Aren't you cold ?"

 

" _No_." he shoots back, realizing only now his hands are in his pockets, shoulders slightly up to protect his neck and arms stuck against his sides.

 

She flinches a bit at his response, probably not so much because of the tone than because of the response itself. He can't really think of why. All he knows is that her having that kind of reaction, especially to something he does or says, is to this day such a trigger for him, that his immediate instinct would be to go to her or to hide in shame.

 

He does neither. He stays still.

 

She's back on her way after a short moment.

 

 

The walk to her apartment is forty minutes long. They get to a whole other part of town. A lot fewer shops, cafes or grocery stores, more three-storey buildings on either sides of the street, occasionally separated by narrow decades-old houses with rooftops nibbled by ivy.

 

He's not cold anymore after some time, and he forgets she's far ahead of him as it ends up really feeling like they're actually having a quiet walk together.

 

When he finally sees her slowing down ahead and getting to a stop, in front of what must be her building, he stops as well once again, like a beaten dog that can't approach humans yet.

 

That'd make them both beaten dogs then.

 

She won't get any closer, and he won't either.

  


 

From where he's standing he can't precisely make out her expression. Her fists seem to be clenched tight.

 

His heart apparently wakes up just then, thundering against his ribcage, as he understands she might be waiting for something -what exactly, he doesn't know.

  


He only knows he can't give it.

  


So he looks at her one last moment, as a silent goodnight. Then turns away without a word, and with barely any sound.

  


  


He knows now she's been living all this time less than five minutes from Lando's house.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't loose your shit just yet okay  
> YES I know it's more angst, I don't ENJOY IT EITHER  
> even my beta was like "okay fo real though when are we back to some fluff"  
> People PLEASE we can't have the characters go like "aaaah, fuck it"  
> it WILL get better, and sooner rather than later  
> I might post chapter n°22 in the next few hours =)
> 
> How you doin though wat up wat's cooking
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtlgYxa6BMU


	22. A funeral

 

Insomnia is familiar to him by now. He usually goes to bed early. A lot has certainly been on his mind ever since he got arrested, and since then he's had trouble sleeping.

 

He's had a lot on his mind, but worries are hardly what keep him awake at night, because in his fatigue his thoughts are reduced to absolute nonsense. His obsessions are pointless ones, numb shortcircuits that gets him nowhere. He's not anxious, he's not preoccupied when he can't get any sleep; his brain simply rather run on nothing than grace him with a well deserved break -like an exploitation system on a neverending update.

It must have a link to how his life derailed, somehow, but his insomnia has never taken the shape of dread.

 

He just lays in his bed annoyed, irritated,  _bored_ , waiting for the night to end.

  


That's how he knows it's not insomnia this time. He can't sleep, sure, but it seems he can't lay down either.

  


So at eleven, he gets up, gets dressed, and heads to take a night bus. He has to wait thirty minutes before one goes by.

 

 

Forty-five minutes later, he's at the end of Leia's street.

 

 

 

He rings the doorbell two or three times, really hoping she'll answer because his phone's in the right pocket of the jacket he left at the bar.

 

Soon he's pounding on the door, a fair amount of time before he hears keys jiggling on the other side.

 

The door opens just wide enough for Leia to peek through, before she sighs loudly from what looks like relief and exasperation at the same time.

 

She opens the door wider ;she's in her pyjamas and a robe; her hair's down.

 

He feigns obliviousness.

 

 

" _Hellooo_  Leia, thought we could eat together, what d'you think ?"

 

 

She grits her teeth. "I can see you've never been a  _woman home alone at night_ , Ben."

 

"Always reprimands with you. First it was  _prison_ , now I'm not a woman, I mean I'm trying, okay ? I came all the way here to see you."

 

"It's  _past midnight_  --"

 

There's nothing on his wrist, but he looks at it, frowning: "Oh is it ?"

 

She's used to his  _little shows_ , but since he's going to AA, she feels more and more at ease to ask questions she never would have asked before.

"You didn't  _drink,_ Ben, did you ?"

 

He stares at her blankly.

 

"You want to smell my breath ?" She rolls her eyes as he adds: "We can pretend I'm nine again and you're just checking if I brushed my teeth."

 

He gets closer, expecting she'll move but she doesn't.

 

"You're not gonna let me in ?"

 

"Why-are-you-here ?" she asks back.

 

" _To spend quality time with my mother_ , Leia. How many times do I have to tell you ?"

 

She sighs again closing her eyes, exhausted, then turns at last to walk back inside, leaving the door open.

  


She sits on a stool under the harsh light of the kitchen to stare at him, waiting for him to join her.

 

 

He's testing her annoyance by taking his time. He sits down, and finally he states solemnly as if he was starting a speech:

  


"Mom...  _I love you_."

  


She doesn't even blink.

  


He clears his throat, pursing his lips: "You're not gonna say it back ? Okay." He inhales deeply: "So  _yeah_ ,  _I love you_ , but that's not why I came here--"

  


"There it is." she deadpans.

  


" _What_."

  


"So what is it ? You need money ?"

  


He opens his mouth soundlessly, narrowing his eyes:  _"I never came here for money_  --Why would you  _say that_  like it's a common thing-- "

  


He presses his lips before going further down that road, and lets out a long sigh of his own, as he's unable all of sudden to keep a careless expression. He can feel she notices the tone of the conversation is about to change; by now she's well used to his humorous attempts at hiding how important some things are to him. When he comes to think of it, the time of his visit might have given it away.

  


"Mom... Do you know about one of Kenobi's children having a drinking problem ?"

  


"... Yes, of course."

  


He blinks. "What do you mean  _of course_  ?"

  


She dares shrugging. "What do you mean  _what do I mean_  ?"

  


"I just asked that  _like that_ , I didn't actually expect you to know--"

  


"Well, actually, I'm surprised you even ask."

  


He frowns. "How so ?"

  


She frowns back, taking a few seconds to process his rather simple inquiry.

 

"Ben... You remember Yuma."

 

It's a statement but her disbelief makes it sound like a question.

  


He should recognize the name by the way she looks at him, but nothing comes to mind. He's intimidated all of a sudden, and it's a close stutter:

"W--Who's Yuma ?"

  


She cocks her head:

 _"_ Benjamin _..._   _we went to her funeral_."

  


He feels his heart beating faster on that simple evocation, and he doesn't exactly know why.

  


She looks somewhere next to him, frowning again as she mutters to herself: "Were you that young ?"

  


Her eyes are back on him. He stays silent, still, afraid now of what she might say next.

She puts her hand on the counter, showing something that's not there to better get her words across as she tries to make him remember:

 

"She'd always give you her change --whenever you were playing in the street, when she'd visit her father, she'd always go up to you and give you the change she had at the bottom of her bag, or in her pockets."

She pauses, waiting for a reaction but there's none.

"Come on, Ben ?"

  


Instead, he asks barely high enough: "She... she had a drinking problem ?"

  


She casually states:

  


"She  _died_  of it."

  


It seems his whole body turns into stone.

He's trying not to let his breathing get too loud, but his heart's beating like he runned a marathon. He thinks the worst is behind him, not expecting her to add:

  


"She was in a car accident after a night at her favorite bar."

  


Leia's looking somewhere in the distance again, as if to better remember herself. She states the facts like anyone would, telling a story from another time: with a detached tone, unaware of what's happening to her son.

  


"She drove her car in a tree and killed herself along with her... _boyfriend_ , I don't know how to call him, they weren't married."

  


When she looks at him again, she searches his face for any emotion she could identify, as he's working to show nothing and not move at all, like an animal facing its predator. He betrays his state a bit by swallowing with great effort, clenching his jaw; but most of all by staying silent.

  


It brings her to speak more softly:

"You don't remember ? ...That's all everybody in the neighborhood talked about for months. Ben ?"

  


He won't talk. She chooses a different approach:

  


"Don't you remember how Kenobi was always out in his backyard, or front yard, growing roses, and irises and, and... throwing your football back when you'd throw it over the fence,"

She takes one second to come up with more. "--How he always brought us all kinds of pastries he made ? When he saw you drew well, he gave you paintbrushes, and --he --we'd see him  _every day_ , give or take."

  


He's staring at her like he'd better not lose sight of her, still trying to make his breathing as quiet as possible. She certainly has taken notice of his state by now, still going for unfased, not stopping there:

  


"From one day to the next, he stopped going out altogether, right ? A proper case of agoraphobia. Right ?"

  


She's actually waiting for a response then, looking at him expectantly.

  


His fist on the counter clenches, showing white knucles, as he's still looking at her. Very slowly, he nods.

  


She nods once too, as if to reward his effort, and adds to confirm: "He's stayed in his house all day, every day, ever since."

  


Another pause.

  


"Well why the sudden change, do you think ? ---That's why.

  


His daughter died. "

  


The words stay stay in the air between them -darkening the night outside, deepening the silence that follows.

  


It's like an invisible hand is slowly choking him. His eyes get blurry.

  


Leia seems to finally be confused by her son's reaction, patiently waiting for him to explain.

  


He makes an attempt at that with the dryest voice there is, as he's working to get the words out despite his throat closing on them:

"I'm sorry Mom. ----I just learned tonight she was the mother of a friend."

  


"...The woman who was at Kenobi's this summer ?"

  


He nods, closing his eyes while doing so.

  


"Yes," She confirms. "She was." She shakes her head, apologetically it seems:

"I –I thought you already knew."

  


He clenches his jaw, looking down. He's trying to swallow down his tears but they're silently rolling on his face, until he mutters despite being aware she won't know what he's referring to:

  


"---I fucking blew it."

  


Her comeback is immediate.

"Which part ?"

  


He looks up at her, eyes red, taken aback.

  


She doesn't falter and repeats: "---Which part, son ?"

  


She expects no response and slowly gets down her stool, stopping before heading upstairs:

  


"Are you sleeping here tonight ?"

  


He nods again.

  


She takes the stairs with tired steps, leaving him there to stare through the tears at what he gets to see of the living room's bay window.

  


He's looking at what's behind, despite the night being so dark he can't make out anything.

It's just where his eyes go everytime he comes here.

  


  


After some time, his breathing's steadying.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .................Leia's back to cut the bullshit
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=39IU7ADaXmQ


	23. Control

 

 

 

Rey's parked on the far end of the public junior highscool's parking lot. She's both hands on the steering wheel, as she's trying to gather enough will to face her students. Like with most sources of discomfort, causes of defeat, or pain in her life, she repeats herself it's not about the situation being good or bad.

 

She has no control over it.

  


Some things happen that people just have no control over. It's alright.

  


  


It's alright.

  


  


When she started having panic attacks around nine, the helplessness she felt about not being able to anticipate them, not to mention derail them, made her understand that about life. She could try to plan, schedule, pray or be cautious, shit happened, and it would continue to happen.

  


She had no control over people, she had no control over life.

  


  


She looks at the time above her radio.

She's fifteen minutes late.

  


She swallows. She'll have to go at some point; if she doesn't, she feels she'll never come back.

  


So she takes her old worn out leather satchel, opens the door and gets out.

  


The parking lot is rather empty on Tuesday in the early afternoon. She's lucky enough to never work in the morning but as a result, she has even less occasions to meet or know her colleagues better.

 

She thought she was getting along with one of them.

 

 

The day they come back together from the Blue Cow, Rose asks her about what caused her obvious and sudden distress at the counter, as they're heading to the break room to eat their orders that Rey has insisted they'd take away.

 

There's no way she can tell her about Ben, and by association, out of the blue, struggling but still, she instead starts talking about her parents -basically telling her everything she wishes she had told Ben -even if there isn't much to say.

 

It feels ---liberating, and becomes a new source of regrets all at once. The response of Rose is so incredibly empathetic -her colleague sharing in return the prematured death of her mother- so full of the attention most people in her life refused her when she was a kid, that it opens a new door on what could be, but also, what could have been.

 

All Rey is left with, aside of what she thinks is a new friend, is some added guilt about not having told Ben.

  


The events that follow show her she has no regrets to have.

 

He's done with her.

  


 

All there is to do now, is go to work. Eat. Sleep. Go to work again.

It's been three days that she focused on doing exactly that.

 

It doesn't seem to get any better with time, but it would at some point, right ?

 

Right.

 

It's alright.

  


Since that night at the bar, Rose is avoiding her. Her colleague might think she hasn't noticed but she has. Yesterday Rey is walking down the A wing corridor when she sees Rose at the other end turn suddenly at her sight, doing her best to act like she actually needed to go the other way. It would have been funny if it wasn't so hurtful.

  


She gets it. She left for no good reason like the ultimate weirdo when Rose was trying to be nice and include her. Her colleague's not the first to give up, she won't be the last.

She knows her students are waiting on her in the A2 classroom, but she still goes to the breakroom first -to have a glass of water, she tells herself, but really to buy herself some time.

  


Rose stands up when she enters the room, as if caught red handed. Rey's about to back away when her colleague pleads:

"No ! Rey  _please_ , can I talk to you real quick ?"

 

"Uh, no, it's—it's fine" Rey weakly protests back, hearing as she says it how it doesn't make sense. She shakes her head to say instead: "My students are waiting, I, I'm—I'm really late."

 

But Rose took her hand in the meantime -it's her turn to stutter, although she does it with more confidence somehow, with a firmer voice:

 

"I, I—I feel like, you're - _rightfully_ ", she hurries to say, repeating it: "rightfully, mad at me for what happened the other night."

 

Rey doesn't know where to look; she means to say it's fine, but her lips move without a sound.

 

"Please, Rey. I can't forgive myself, I hate to know you're down because of me, I'm so, so sorry---"

 

Rey can look at her now, stunned. Rose looks miserable.

 

"I—I'm not," she tries to assure Rose with a voice that doesn't falter.

 

"What ?"

 

"I'm not down because of you."

 

Rose's traits soften. "You're not ?"

 

"No, not at all."

 

"So –can we talk about it later, can I call you ? and –we, we can go see a movie, or eat, I don't know, whatever !"

 

She says it with so much hope in her voice it hardly can be fake; Rey can admit that much despite of all her insecurities.

 

She's not smiling, but her face must convey how relieved she is at Rose's words as she nods, because Rose almost jumps in response, happy as can be:

 

"Oh my god, great ! I will ! I mean, I'll call you !"

 

She releases her hand then, only now remembering she's holding it: "Sorry, shit, your class, you're late - I'm sorry--"

 

"It's okay," murmurs Rey with a small smile, before she leaves her and finally heads to the A wing.

 

As she's turning down the hallway, she ponders on how weird it feels to have something going for her for once.

It hasn't happened in a long time. So of course she's immediately wondering if she hasn't misunterprated what just occured.

 

 

On her way to her classroom, she comes across Perier, a thirty-something English teacher who's always acted around her like he was her superior. Unsurprisingly, he has a few words for her:

 

"I can hear your students all the way from reception, Niima. Get them under control, for once ? You think you can do that ?"

 

She's been patronized many times; she should be used to it. Probably because it's piling up on all the rest, she walks on, head down, clenching her jaw, ignoring him, which is unlike her.

 

It doesn't do much, but at least she doesn't grant him any attention.

 

She slows her steps as she gets a few feet from her class.

 

 

Perier's an asshole, but he's right.

 

 

They're shouting, properly shouting. She doesn't even get how that's possible, meaning what could cause them to shout or yell  _every day_  ? How can they find or make up  _a reason_  to do so - _every day_  ?

 

She closes her eyes, breathing through her nose, bracing herself as she's about to enter.

 

She does.

 

 

Perez's sitting on his desk, as usual; Donald, Ferguson and Carlotti have gathered around the same desk, playing with a coin, Jessica Jackson and Emily Jackson are on each sides of the classroom, sending pens to each other just because; two are having phone calls, and she wouldn't be surprised if she discovered they're actually calling each other -but most of all, all of them are yelling to be heard above the yelling of the others.

 

 

Rey stops, looking at her desk. She takes in some air.

 

But it won't get out.

  


She fights against it, her chin already starting to tremble.

  


Before she knows it, her vision blurs. Her sobs start silent, caught in her chest and throat and she puts a hand on her mouth to make sure she keeps them there, but she ends up crying in her hand, her eyes shut hard, shaken by new, more violent sobs. Her cheeks are wet in a second, her face is burning.

 

She lets her bag fall on the floor, surrendering.

 

She's muffling her cries but they're back each time with a vengeance, shaking her shoulders, as all her students,  _each and everyone of them_ , one by one, turn their heads to her and gradually fall in complete silence, utterly confused. Her crying is all that can be heard in the room now.

  


  


She doesn't look at them.

  


 

 

Instead, she's trying to wipe the tears away from her eyes, to have a better look at her desk.

  


  


 

 

Someone put at the center of it a -big, grey, aluminium-  _watering can_.

 

 

 

  


She's sniffling, wiping away her tears with the back of her hands again and again, trying to calm down.

 

Because she's scared shitless to allow herself to believe that this is really happening, in her confusion she asks her students with a shivering voice, almost whispering:

 

"Did—did anyone of you put that here?"

 

Three seconds pass as they all keep perfectly still, before Georgina, who sat at the front row rises up to say with a solemn voice:

 

"No, Miss. But I think I speak for  _all us here_  when I say that we  _will_  find the one who did, and---"

 

Others are already joining her, granting her intervention with " _yeahs_ " and a few " _that's right_ " in approbation, before all fall back into silence again when their teacher cuts the girl off:

 

" _No, no_ , that's not what I meant. It's—it's --"

She sighs like the heaviest weight has finally been lifted from her chest.

 

"... _It's a good thing_."

 

Georgina looks at her like her teacher went crazy, frowning: "--Oh--".

  


The girl slowly sits down with sheer confusion on her face. The one on her right shrugs at her, obviously just as lost.

  


Because she's not used to silence at all during her classes she feels like she should say something, despite the fact she still hasn't come down from her shock; she clears her throat:

 

"Uh, hum. Mr Perier complained to me about the-- the, the noise you're making."

  


At the second row on the left Devon clicks his pen before writing something down, saying back to her:

 

"Noted."

  


Rey blinks.

 

"No, uh, -- _again_ , that's not what I meant."

 

Devon looks up at her:

 

"Oh I know. But like, that's our problem now."

 

She stands there a few seconds, trying to come up with something, anything.

 

 

She only finds she doesn't care.  


If she knows one thing, it's that she has no control over people.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Z66wVo7uNw


	24. That's romantic

 

 

 

No one works here, what's going on ? How does a school look so empty ? 

 

 

... so much for discretion. 

 

He has to cross the whole parking lot to get to the main doors. He thought he'd have to hide if he saw her at the front desk or coming from the end of a hallway and that'd be quite a challenge by itself -but  _now_ , it's near impossible. 

There's no one here -fuck. If she's around she'll spot him in a second.

 

What about a six foot two man walking around with a watering can could possibly attract attention ? 

 

The idea is for her to get it  _without him staring at her_. It's not about being quirky. The last thing he'd want would be for her to feel pressured, or embarrassed, or distressed - and those are her three most regular states.

 

When he first thinks of this, he feels  _reeeal_  confident about it. 

He's sure this is the best way to get his message across, while still leaving her all the liberty she needs to ignore it if she wants to. Certainly this is at least a better idea than what he initially thought of doing, because the emergency he felt after learning about Yuma caused him to plan on waiting in front of Rey's building until he'd meet her, not moving from there until he'd see her  _-like that's romantic or something_. That alone shows just  _how much_  he has no fucking clue what he's doing.

Waiting in her street --such a good instinct on his part. 

God knows women love it when an ex-convict lurks around their homes. Rey, among all people, would be  _ecstatic_.

It's like he doesn't know her at all. 

 

 

Leaving a watering can at her workplace is genius in comparison.

But now, he's actually there, crossing the parking lot of his hometown's public junior high school his mother's watering can in hand, and he finally fully realizes just  _how fucking dumb that idea really is._

 

He can be nothing but painfully aware of it as he approaches the front desk, which is why he handles it the worst way possible.

 

"Hi, uh, this is gonna sound... really  _strange_ , but, basically I--"

 

"Sir are you a parent ?"

 

Ben takes in the secretary sitting behind the desk who just cut him off without looking up.

 

She's a brown skinned woman, fairly young, probably younger than him, and she wears what looks like a hijab _under a bright pink bobble hat._

 

She's perched a pair of square glasses on her nose and she's reading a novel - _Sophie's Misfortunes_.

 

An illustrated edition. 

 

She's  _reading_ , while on the other end of the hallway -far from here but still- in one of the classrooms, it appears a full-on  _civil war_ is happening, with students inside shouting and  _definitely_  breaking school property if he had to guess.

 

So from the get-go he'd say it's pretty obvious to anyone that that woman just. Doesn't. Care.

 

He's quickly assessing his best options, perfectly still, both hands on the counter like a pleading child, and as his silence stretches, she lifts her eyes up.

 

"Yes." he deadpans.

 

She looks at him, jaded. Then she eyes the watering can he put on the counter, then him again. 

 

"I'm, I'm --I'm a ... teacher's parent." he rectifies in a really convincing way.

 

She narrows her eyes now. His voice gets so small then, that he doesn't even recognize it:

 

"...I'm a teacher's friend ?"

 

"Get out of my school," she states plainly as she returns to her book.

 

" _Wait_ , I don't mean to stay here, I'll be gone in a second--"

 

"Be gone now."

 

"This," he goes on showing the watering can, "belongs to one of the teachers."

 

At least he thinks it does. He's had no confirmation Rey actually works at this school. The hope he had that whoever was at the front desk would help him find out has gotten quite compromised.

 

She asks back with a flat tone, eyes still on her book: "No way, it does ?" 

 

"--y-yeah."

 

"How about you give them when you see them ?"

 

 

_Oh is it how young people do it nowadays ?_

 

 

"I, I... I'm leaving soon," he stutters. "I won't be able to give it back to them."

 

 

 _"Oh_.  _Now_  I get why this is urgent."

 

 

He's about to go "Yeah, you do, right ?" when she looks at him again, eyes half shut from boredom at his nonsense:

 

 

"...how in the  _world_  will they water their plants ? "

 

 

Well. Sassy can hardly be a good sign.

 

 

"It's not about  _that_ ," he retorts like a vexed pre-teen, searching for an explanation other than the truth. "It's a matter of  _principle_ , I'm not gonna keep something that's not mine."

 

 

"-and this ain't the post office, and I ain't Mister postman, bud, so  _move_."

 

 

That woman, of all people on earth,  _won't_  concede to his demands -she won't change her mind. That much is certain. She's getting paid to not give a fuck right now.

 

But the one who'll catch him being all logical or perceptive  _isn't born yet_. 

 

"You could just keep it on your desk--"

 

"This is quite cumbersome actually," she states.

 

"I used to attend this school you know,"

 

She has enough energy to scoff but still puts none in her voice: "Oh then please Mr President -by all means-"

 

"Miss come on, it's just a watering can-"

 

"How do I know there ain't a bomb in it ?" she asks, turning a page of her book, and  _he fucking knows it's for show_  because someone just can't talk and read at the same time -she just got next level, openly toying with him. 

 

He stares. Inhales.

 

"You, can,-- look... inside. There's..." He clenches his jaw, feeling ridiculous saying it, but he will say it. That's how dedicated he is.

"--there's nothing in it."

 

He even demonstrates, sliding his hand through the opening of the can: "You can put your hand, like this, to check."

 

"--mmmmh..." She purses her lips, eyes still on her book:"... no."

 

He stares at her.

Then eventually lowers his gaze, taking some time to think since she doesn't seem to mind him standing there - yet another indication she's enjoying this.

 

"I don't suppose you would tell Miss Niima I was there to give it back to her ?" 

 

He's sure she won't, and in fact he doesn't want her to -he's only asking in the hope she'll indirectly confirm that Rey works here. 

 

She slowly looks up from her book, and straightens slightly, he thinks because she's trying to come up with something good, something worth her standards. A few seconds pass. He's miles away from considering that her sudden silence might be good news.

 

"This is Miss Niima's ?" she articulates, looking straight at him now.

 

He's caught short: "Y...yeah, yeah it is."

 

She gets up and snatches it from the counter -he even flinches as she does.

 

Then she gives one last look at him, before getting around the counter and walking down the hallway without a word.

 

"WAIT. You're gonna give it to her ?" he asks hurriedly, not daring to follow her, just getting on his tip toes in reaction to not being able to. " _Are you ?_  "

 

She doesn't turn to him. _"Goodbye, sir."_

 

But he doesn't move, watching as the watering can's getting away from him. He widens his eyes when he sees her entering the classroom where the civil war's still on. 

 

He should really go, in case Rey's in there. 

 

Shit. _Is Rey in there ?_

 

She isn't, because he hears the secretary yell above the noise, still with a bored tone of voice:

 

"Listen up you little shits. This is Niima's. Don't touch it, don't look at it, don't even think about it."

 

Before turning to leave he only hears some of the students say back to her: 

 

"No worry Giselle,  _we only think of you_." 

 

"Rocking that outfit Giselle !"

 

 _"Shut._   _UP_." she shoots back.

 

 

His heart's thundering in his chest as he passes the door back to the parking lot. 

 

 

Now all he has to do is wait. 

 

 

Piece of cake.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gru4IfbKlfU


	25. Free (Twenty-four hours)

 

 

He went to leave the watering can on Tuesday, because Tuesday was his day off that week.

 

That's it -there's nothing more to it.  

 

The wait that follows makes evident one by one all the details he should have been wary about, as it seems he'll never come short of scenarios playing against him.

 

He should have made sure she worked that day, for starters. If she did, what if a student threw the watering can out the window -what if one of them stole it. What if the secretary placed it behind her desk and Rey didn't see it. What if the secretary changed her mind, and decided to keep it. What if Rey doesn't remember about the watering can ? 

She'd just be like - _da fuck is a watering can doing in my classroom ?_  Before burning it.

 

What if she  _does_ remember, but doesn't get  _why_  it's there, what he meant ?

He was so sure it was clear, now he really isn't. 

 

Because time pass by and she doesn't show up.

 

He knows she doesn't, because despite the fact that he's not working that day at the Blue Cow, he decides to wait all afternoon at a table in the lobby, not eating, just sitting there, to be sure he'd be there if she came. 

 

She doesn't. 

 

Colette is pretending she has no clue why he's there, but obviously she can only be aware it's not because he misses work.

 

He doesn't sleep a single minute that following night, but he manages to pretend like he's not losing his mind over this. He really shouldn't, there's plenty of reasons why she wouldn't come right away. 

 

Even though his brain goes blank every time he tries to think of one -other than  _she doesn't want to_  and so  _she won't come_ , not tomorrow not ever.

 

He starts work at nine the next day, as usual, and he's counting the seconds until nine thirty -because she came to the counter around that time on several occasions.

 

Colette, meanwhile, is aiming for that Oscar by flawlessly acting like she has no idea why he's restless, starting random tasks and not finishing them to peek through the heating bin. Until she asks: 

 

"You seem eager to serve customers today. Don't worry white boy, I'll graciously let you take in all the orders. I'm generous like that."

 

He can't handle the turmoil inside on his own, so he tells her what she needs to know, changing the watering can part of it, preferring to say he left Rey a note instead. She's not into that kind of detail though, since she asks with a straight face, eyes on the product she's cleaning the grill with:

 

"So what you mean is: it hasn't been twenty-four hours yet ?"

 

She looks at him: "Is that about right ? Am I understanding correctly ?"

 

He inhales deeply to keep sarcasm from dripping all over his words -failing:

 

"Thank you Coco, I feel better. Obviously I just needed to be reminded of how much of an idiot I am -I tend to forget that." 

 

"I know you do," she retorts simply.

 

It's all fun and carefree remarks, until it gets quite somber around noon in the kitchen, the unspoken tension making for a sharp contrast with the habitual agitation of the lunch rush, as he goes to check through the openings of the heating bin, discreetly at first, if Rey's there. Colette can only understand that's a negative at the way he goes back again and again to the heating bin, caring less and less if he does so with discretion. 

 

She thinks it can't get worse, until it does, as after an hour he just stops checking at once, his silence deadly, his movements set on automatic mode. 

 

She even has to witness him clearly avoids getting near the bin now. 

 

Unable to leave it, she goes to check several times herself. People are sitting at the two seated table near the bay window -just not the white girl.

 

Colette's not gonna lie, she doesn't handle it very well. After thirty more minutes and yet another inconclusive check, she tells him with a voice that she hopes doesn't betray how much her heart is broken: 

 

"Kid ...it's likely she sat somewhere else."

 

It's as if she burnt him just by talking: he hurries to say, frowning, letting the spatula he had in hand drop and passing her to leave the kitchen: 

 

"I'm, I'm-- going to the cold-chamber Colette, we need ---things."

 

When he comes back five minutes later -and five minutes is a long time in a fast-food restaurant- with nothing in hand, she's careful not to make the mistake to say anything this time. 

 

Hours pass by excrutiatingly slow. They do so, without any new development other than the silence between them becoming ever so heavy.

 

He doesn't leave Colette any time to say anything when three o'clock arrives, and goes straight for the locker rooms to change when he knows she's downstairs preparing her own meal.

 

When it's done, he makes sure he takes the north hallway, to get out by the back entrance so he won't have to face her anymore today. He shouldn't have told her anything. 

 

He opens the door to the parking lot. 

 

 

 

And finds out Rey's standing behind it.

 

His heart drops, and he stills there, four feet from her.

 

She's looking up at him, caught short apparently. Twisting her hands, she's not trying to speak. Maybe she figured out beforehand this time that she wouldn't be able to.

 

He blinks a few times when he realizes his eyes are blurry. He should say something. 

 

Only then does he see she put down the watering can. It's just by her feet. 

 

He manages to articulate with a hoarse voice: 

 

"Thank you, I... I had no idea where I left it."

 

"On my desk." she states simply, with a voice that's surprisingly even compared to his.

 

He nods, not even to laugh, but because he's going through so many emotions he doesn't know what he's doing, or what face he's making, or who's President at this point.

 

"Right," he says barely above a whisper "...you're right, I remember now."

 

Her breathing's unsteady, and he on the other hand seems to just now get better control over his: 

 

"My mother actually needs that, so thank you." he says; again, not even joking.

 

She's replying something to that, her eyes down in embarrassment but he doesn't know why, either because he's too emotional or because as usual her volume is below what's necessary for him to hear; he didn't understand what she said, so he croaks:

 

"--what ?"

 

"I'm keeping it ?" he hears her breathe. It's a question but he senses it's really not.

 

"O-kay." he nods, looking down -the way he would if he was taking down his boss' directives.

 

He lets the thought make its way through his brain and shakes his head half chuckling, finally feeling a smile tucking at his lips, able to breathe a bit better. 

 

"--okay." he repeats. He lifts his eyes up to her. She's not smiling -she never is when she's about to speak. That's too big of a hardship.

 

"Are -are... Are you--" she starts, without finishing. 

 

He hasn't forgotten about letting her have the whole stage in order to have her finish a sentence or a thought. So he stays quiet, and waits. 

She swallows, looks down, then at him, then down again. 

 

"Are you -" she starts again, to then say even lower: "If, if--are you... free tonight ?"

 

Despite the fact that asking someone this must be about the most challenging thing for her, since talking is already a challenge in her case, he's still confused to see her be so hesitant in asking  _him_  that. She just brought him back the water can, something that he's just starting to consider again like a pretty good proof of his interest in her. 

 

 

He's horrified to then realize it's because the last time she did that,  _he turned her down_.

 

He almost chokes in his hurry to answer: 

 

"Yes, yes-- _YES, --_ I'm free tonight."

 

She tries to hide it, bowing her head a bit, but relief washes over her face like a balm.

 

He's the single most stupid person there is. Shame burns him from inside, so he stammers, because all logic in him is gone:

 

"Are -are  _you_ , free, tonight ?"

 

She's such a sweetheart she nods at that, instead of calling him useless, like anyone else would.

 

A long sentence follows:

"I, I made –I cooked something." She actually says that with dreamy eyes.

 

He swallows. If she's more at ease to speak now, he's more at ease to joke. 

 

"Well done, I'm proud of you." he states.

 

" _No, --_ I mean." she tries to correct, because she's the best. "-- _I cooked something for you_."

 

"Nothing for you ?"

 

"--for both of us." she whispers, like it's such a bad thing she's afraid someone else will hear.

 

 

 

"Oh," he breathes. 

 

 

 

"Good."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5I0vld0lqQ


	26. Wooden floor

Dinner will be served at eight.

 

It means he'll have to wait  _five_   _full hours_. 

 

He's close to asking her if he can come home with her right away but he'd better not tempt the devil.

Also he actually needs a shower, and a good one at that.

 

He's parting from her, about to say "see you later", and walk to the bus station as she's going to her car, when she stops in her tracks to look at him.

 

"Where -where are you going ?" she asks -like it's really overstepping his boundaries. 

 

"I uh, -to the bus station near the post-office."

 

"I-I have a car," she says twiddling with her keys.

 

"Well, you just  _have_  to rub it in- don't you ? I'm not surprised."

 

He's careful to keep his voice as flat as possible, without any ounce of agression in it even in jest, as she's shown she doesn't need much to take what he says seriously. But even as she gets the joke, she just won't acknowledge it, as if she couldn't possibly allow the slightest chance of a misunderstanding to stand between them:

 

"No, I, I can drive you."

 

"I get it Rey, you have a driver's license and I don't. Congrats." he deadpans again, because he on the other hand can't possibly miss the slightest oportunity to fuck with her.

 

"No... I mean I  _will_  -I will drive you."

 

" _Oh_."

 

In front of Lando's house, she hurries to say before he gets outs of the car :

 

"I'll pick you up."

 

She stated that without stuttering, so he really wants to reward her by just nodding like a soldier to his captain, but he has to remark:

 

"It's... really nearby, it's a five minute walk."

 

 

She looks around, as if she was just realizing where she was. "Right." she murmurs. 

 

He's probably over-interpretating things; surely she's not doubting he'll come, that'd be absurd -but just in case he still feels the need to say: 

 

"I know we said eight, but I'll likely be there early."

 

She raises her eyebrows: "How --why ?"

 

"Because I can't wait, Rey, so I think I'll be there around seven instead." 

 

"It-- it won't be ready," she stammers.

 

"I don't care." he replies bluntly, "See you later." -before almost slamming the door on her. 

 

He felt quite cool and laid back in the car, but as soon as she leaves the anticipation is _killing him_. He's doing circles in his room again for the first time in months.

When it's six forty five, he reckons he waited enough and leaves.

 

He rings at the second door bell at her building's front door. "R. Niima"

The door buzzes  ten seconds later. 

When he's in, he realizes he has no idea what floor she's on. So he squints at the mailboxes, searching for a clue there.

"Who you looking for ?" asks the oldest white man on earth, a poodle in his arms, as he's going down the stairs.

 

"Re--Miss Niima." he answers like the good kid he is. 

 

"Second floor. The name's on the door." the old man tells him.

 

"Thank you," Ben says, about to take the stairs himself; but he stops, and turns to him:

 

"So you just let anybody know ?"

 

"What" croaks the other one back.

 

"Why would you tell me, you don't know me, I could be anybody."

 

The man looks at him in a way that clearly conveys he didn't ask for this shit.

 

"Are you _anybody_ ?"

 

"Uh, no, she's expecting me," Ben backpedals full speed.

 

"Should I call the cops, sir ?"

 

He hurries to climb the stairs: "--- _aaaand_  a very good evening to you grandpa." 

 

When he's at Rey's door, he inhales deeply, then knocks. 

He hears a clang -her appartment must be quite small- and then, because he pays extra attention, he hears creaks of what must be a wooden floor, from what must be a wary kind of tip toeing that gets closer to the door and then stops.

Then nothing. 

Nothing, for maybe a good minute. 

It's such a long wait he starts doubting he heard anything, but he's still sure enough he doesn't knock once more. 

Still he's not about to stay there all night, so he raises his fist to knock again, stopping mid-air, thinking better of it. He turns to look right and left in the hallway to be sure nobody's coming, then gets his ear closer to the door.

He clears his throat.

"Rey ? Um" he pauses. "Do... Do you want me to leave ?"

 

When it's perfectly silent again for a few more seconds, he thinks he  _did_  make up noises after all, until he hears coming from the other side, muffled by the door:

 

 

"--no."

 

 

 

He mutters to himself: "Oh, good." 

 

 

He tries to come up with something, settling for: 

 

 

"This is a conceptual date ?"

 

 

 

"No," he hears at a lower volume, but with a shorter hesitation.

 

 

"The food we're gonna eat is for the soul ? ...We're gonna have very interesting conversations from behind the door ?"

 

 

 

"No, I'll-I--...I made actual food."

 

 

"Oh okay."

 

 

 

But nothing happens for another thirty seconds.

 

So he asks again: 

 

 

"Rey ?"

 

 

"--yes ?"

 

 

"I, I, uh..." he wonders how to phrase it. "I'll have to be on the other side of the door, to eat the food -that, uh,  you made."

 

 

He feels a presence somewhere on his right, so he turns his head. A middle-aged woman is staring at him with a scowl on her face from the other end of the short hallway, standing at what he assumes is her door. He didn't hear her get out.

 

He's about to beg Rey to open the door, but chooses last second to utter something else, saying much lower:

 

 

"I'll come back another time, Rey, it's fine."

 

 

 

"No !" he hears her exclaim right away.

 

 

He's a bit taken aback, never expecting her to be vocal in any way, but he's somehow still quick to respond:

 

 

"...alright, I mean _obviously I want to_ , but if you say you don't want me to come back then I'll respect that."

 

 

 

Finally he hears keys jingling on the other side. 

 

The door opens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSv04ylc6To
> 
> *My darlings*  
> I have a guest at my place right now, and I can't write as much  
> This chapter was meant to be part of a much longer chapter, but I decided to already post this, as the next chapter will be a LONG ASS ONE.  
> Which means that to finish writing it, then for my beta to edit it, it's gonna take more time.  
> I also couldn't reply your comments yet, but of course know that I've read all of them, and your kindness and excitment make life worth living
> 
> ALSO:
> 
> I often post music at the end of the chapters. It's music I listen to while writing, that more or less feels connected to the story to me.  
> Recently, dear Nicole sent me a song that evokes Rey and Ben to her as they're depicted in this fic. Which made me realize, I'd be curious to know if you've thought of a song to represent this story, or a character in particular, or a relationship between two characters, or anything from this fic really. So if you do think of one, you can post it in the comment section on every chapter from now on, and I'll put the link in the end notes of the next chapter. I'll specify your name and what it represents to you, aaand we'll have a playlist of our own.
> 
> You don't have to obviously, and I'll continue to post my own songs.
> 
> So if it's going anywhere, we're starting today =)
> 
> Here's Nicole's song to represent Rey and Ben's relationship:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dw0sjXiU4IE


	27. Wild fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ........soo, I got carried away.  
>  This was supposed to be 10K long -I made the wise decision to make that two chapters instead of one  
> The second part of this should be posted today
> 
> I hope you enjoy =)

Rey's half hidden behind the door as she opens it wide, but he doesn't pay attention to her for long. 

 

He stays quiet, rather overwhelmed by what he sees. 

 

He was right about the wooden floor; it extends to the whole apartment he thinks.

 

He takes two steps forward, to stand at the opening of the living room to take everything in.

 

The ceiling is quite high, but the room is fairly small, although it technically still qualifies as a living room. 

 

The bamboo Venitian blinds hide the whole room from the opposite building.

 

At the center of said room, there's a fabric couch with a wooden structure. Its cushions feature giant oranges with pale green leaves. In front of it is a round coffee table with little wheels instead of legs; a round glass pane of the same size has been affixed on top of it. There's a larger round woolen cream carpet underneath. 

 

On the opposite end of the room, three old TVs have been put on top of one another. The two at the bottom are not the same size, but they're both big, and they look like they're models from the nineties, if he had to guess. The one at the top is much smaller, and it has actual antennas, and this one looks like it's from the seventies maybe, or earlier, even. Next to them are precariously stacked dozens of VHS. 

 

On the floor not far from there someone mercilessly split open a gigantic boom box. He sees a cute, small one that's been painted red and left opened next to the radio, before noticing the two enormous toolboxes put away against the wall near the narrow bay window.

 

He can't tell if she genuinely enjoys watching movies, and watching them on VHS, or if she particularly enjoys listening to the radio -what he's pretty sure of so far is that she likes repairing things, something she never talked about with him. 

 

All of this he only takes notice of, though, after taking a few seconds to assess the rest.

 

 

He doesn't know if he should be scared or amazed.

 

 

From the ground to the ceiling, on wooden shelves mounted all over the walls, or on the few pieces of furniture including the TVs, the round rolling coffee table and a white rocking chair, are plants of all sizes and shapes and of dozens of shades of green, blue and grey, their leaves hanging from their planters or rising to the ceiling. 

In between them: lamps,  _just a shit ton of lamps_  -bedside lamps, salt lamps, desk lamps, oil lamps; lamps made out of old beer bottles, dome lamps -all of their electric cords being taped to the walls or to the ground.

 

There's an iron stool leaning on the far left of the room.

 

If he stands anywhere, and tries to put his hands on his hips and turn, he'll break something. 

 

There's no room for a dining table, but she deemed necessary on the other hand to make room for a five foot long greenhouse she must have built herself -at least it doesn't look like it came from a store. The plastic covering dims the warm light coming from within, and not far from it lay bags of compost and expanded clay.

 

The watering can has been set on a toy stool nearby, with two smaller ones next to it.

 

 

She spends a lot of time inside. He'd guessed that much already but what he's seeing is a screaming confirmation.

 

 

She stayed behind, so he turns to face her, hands in his pockets. Only then does he see she's wearing an apron, decorated with patterns of sunflowers, her sleeves pushed back to her elbows, her hands wet, and---well, yeah.

Her crocs. He knows about those.

 

The smell of a dish he doesn't recognize wafts from the kitchen. He hears water boiling, the oven running. A flush is high on her cheeks that must be caused by actual heat, for a change. He feels like he can hear her heart beating from there.

 

It's the weirdest sensation for him to be facing at once things he had no idea he wished to discover about her; to see how he never could have imagined her like this, yet to be forced to admit now that,  _of course_ , it makes perfect sense that she's the way she is.

 

 

"It's-- it's not ready." she starts.

 

 

 

He stares at her, unmoved.

 

"What the hell, woman. You know I came here for the food."

 

 

No lie, he's a bit surprised to see she goes on without the slightest emotion to his statement: 

"It will be, at eight."

 

She passes him dodging things on her way right and left with experienced steps to the kitchen, and he follows her, arms stuck to his chest putting his feet exactly where she put hers. 

 

He stops as he's about to enter the kitchen. It's worse in there. 

 

There's jars everywhere. He's gonna cause something catastrophic to happen. 

 

On one wall, covered with shelves again, are preservation jars filled with herbs, teas, yellow and red spices, dried flowers, and other plants, some that are full of dried fruits and nuts of all sorts. On the next wall are smaller jars filled with sugar, brown and white -along with what looks like some rapadura- while others are filled with all types of flours and all types of rice, from the whitest shade there is to the darkest.

She seems to be trying to take care of the preparation while pretending it doesn't unsettle her  _completely_  that he's there watching.

There's evidence everywhere she has some expertise and knowledge in cooking yet she's everything but organized; she starts a task before continuing another one, like she lost track of what's done and what's left to do.

There's only a very small round table pushed against the third wall, so he assumes that's where they'll eat. The chairs are too low even for her. It looks like the furniture hasn't been replaced for decades, that she found it here when she moved in and didn't change it.

The counter isn't long; bowls, spoons, basmati rice and red lentils, briks and spinach, some garlic and two cans of cream coconut, along with the remnants of eggplants and some newspapers take up all the space.

There are two pots cooking on the stove, with a deep pan and a flat one, filling the room with boiling and frying sounds. 

 

He has to ask: 

 

"Are we expecting someone else?"

Then lower, not meaning for her to hear: "A family of nine, maybe?"

 

 

"No," she breathes. "It's just us."

 

"So what's for dinner?"

 

She stops, searching for words, like she's thinking of a million ways by the second of how to begin. He had no idea such an innocent question could cause so much turmoil.

 

 

He's  _not_  prepared.

 

 

She starts timidly, explaining she'll serve something close to an Indian vegetarian thali recipe; that she made adjustments that make it not really a thali anymore -and it goes like wild fire from there.

 

With an even voice, even though it remains quite difficult to hear her properly with all the noise, she goes through all of her favorite Indian, Nepalian, Chinese, then Middle-eastern dishes, listing what ingredients she likes to change or add and why, why she lets some things cook longer than prescribed, how she discovered those cuisines and why she liked them -then how she discovered cooking in general.

 

Why it mostly never fails to calm her down, getting into philosophical concepts and then scientific theories about how food is related in thousands of ways to happiness.

 

She becomes organized again, quick, efficient, as she continues talking. He doesn't interrupt her once, doesn't even participate the few times she pauses.

 

He sat down at some point -his knees slightly higher than they should be, like he sat in a doll chair.

 

He's never heard her speak that much, with actual full sentences said in a row, but it goes way beyond that, because he's never willingly listened to anyone for that long _-ever_. He has a feeling it might be the best evidence yet of how much he's infatuated with her.

 

Several times, she smiles while speaking, although she doesn't feel confident enough to smile at him exactly.

 

It gets him to understand he hasn't seen her smile in a really, really long time. Quickly, he lowers his own gaze to keep himself from going too deep into why he hasn't, his regrets secretly ruining the moment for him for a minute, without her suspecting anything.

 

She didn't bother dressing up or styling her hair in a different way than she usually does, just like he didn't, and she didn't put much care into how the table's arranged either. But the  _food_ , she serves it in generous amounts and she does it  _in a very specific way_ , still explaining why with a small voice to him, -and how he should eat it, what things he should taste together.

 

 

There's mint in this, and there's cashew nuts in that.

 

 

And he thought she couldn't get any cuter.

 

 

When they're both sitting with their plate full, she still talks for a bit as he starts eating.

 

He doesn't bother complimenting her on how excellent the result is, letting how fast he's eating speak for itself, following her instructions about what flavors to combine.

 

 

 

At some point though, he notices she stopped talking.

 

 

His mouth full, he looks at her, and sees she's hesitantly pushing the food around with her fork, looking at him then quickly away, then delicately bringing a glass of water to her lips, apparently in order to have something to do rather than because she's thirsty.

 

 

She hasn't taken a single bite yet. It's really not like her.

 

 

He frowns. 

"Well, shit, Rey. What this all an elaborate plan to poison me?"

 

 

She has her head down, shaking it, signaling she's back to her usual ways of communication.

 

 

"Your food's gonna get cold." he informs her.

 

 

She's whispering now: "I'm not hungry."

 

 

Because he's eating it's something he almost doesn't notice at first. She squirms, barely, on her chair, and her breathing gets a bit unsteady without any apparent reason.

 

 

But then, what he couldn't have missed, not for anything in the world, is the light pink blooming down what he can see of her neck, as she can't look at him anymore. 

 

 

He slows down his chewing. Staring at her.

 

 

She's not eating, which is one thing, but she's barely moving as well.

 

 

 

All of this looks an awful lot like anticipation. 

 

 

He feels his own heart rate go up slightly as he works his food down his throat. Strangely enough, he's also the most calm he's been in months. 

 

 

"How come?" he asks with a low voice that was meant to be soft, but it only sounds deep like the voice one would use to gently warn a child instead. He's not expecting an honest answer.

 

 

"I don't know," she murmurs again.

 

 

"Oh you don't know?"

 

 

He'd only be amused by her bashfulness like he always is, if he wasn't also feeling so strongly and so seriously about what's unsaid between them right now.

 

 

He was so happy to only get to  _see_ her, that he's just now grasping fully what might be to come. 

 

 

What he might just get to do to her.

 

 

It's a lot for him, almost too much, to go there even for a few seconds, but somehow he manages to be back to a pretend nonchalance. So he takes his time drinking his water, foreseeing the pleasure he's gonna get from just  _asking her_  what he's gonna ask her, and excited beyond belief to get to see her reaction. He looks down at his plate finishing it, taking an innocent tone:

 

 

"What did you plan we do after?"

 

 

She swallows with such great difficulty it looks like she's trying not to choke on the food she didn't take a single bite of, looking at her plate, then away, then her plate again, as the blush, his fucking best friend at this point, creeps all over her adorable cheeks and temples.

 

 

"We... what-whatever you want." he hears.

 

 

That's the boldest answer she could give him, given what  _he actually asked._  He wonders if she realizes just how bold. 

 

 

And somehow, it's also the move of a coward, as she's avoiding to give a real answer.

 

 

And he's gonna make her pay for that.

 

 

 

"Thought we could go bowling."

 

 

He says it with a flat voice, moving his food around like he's busy with what's happening there and not  _dying_  of curiosity about how in the world she's gonna try to get herself out of that one.

 

 

Since he's deliberately not looking at her there's only the silence that follows, then her voice, to betray the extent of the struggle he's put her through: 

 

"I --I don't know how to," the poor thing tries.

 

 

Dear. God.  _This_  is his second most favorite thing in the whole world. He can only be proud to be able to put what he believes is a flawless blank expression on, despite all that's going on inside him. 

 

 

"Even more reasons to go." he states. He puts his fork down. Then gets up. "Grab your coat." 

 

 

He's still not looking at her, and that's a good thing because he's sure if he does he's gonna take pity and the fun will end way too soon. He takes his jacket and puts it on as he goes:

 

 

"There's a place that's--" he frowns, wincing like he's trying to evaluate fairly: "-- _alright."_  

 

Then adds as an afterthought: "...It's just a forty-five minute drive." 

 

 

He can't help but glance at her.

 

She's looking up at him, sitting still. He's sure she'd feel true guilt at showing him in any way that she's disappointed, and would only be the person to do the polite thing by obliging her guest. That's why he can only imagine just  _how disappointed_  she is right now, since despite her politeness she's unable to hide it, not even a little bit.

 

 

Nevertheless, she gets up wordlessly like a grounded child, leaving there her plate untouched.

She takes off her apron, folds it carefully, head down, and places it on the worktop. 

 

 

He watches her do.

 

Hands in his pockets. 

 

 

"My --my coat's by the door." she informs him -for some reason. 

 

 

He shrugs.

 

"Kay. Let's go."

 

 

He's waiting for her to move, and eventually, she does. 

 

Like earlier, he silently follows her through all her living room obstacles. Except she's walking much slower now.

 

By the door, she grabs her coat. She puts it on, carefully zipping it up, her head down. 

 

He's just behind her when she takes her keys, about to open the door. 

 

She does so pulling on the doorknob so slowly, that she doesn't notice right away where the resistance comes from as she feels something's keeping her from opening it wider than a few inches. Her hand still on the doorknob she looks down to see if something on the ground is blocking it, before looking up.

 

She stops pulling the door open when she sees his hand flat against it above her head. Pushing it.

 

She warily lets go of the doorknob.

 

The door slowly closes. 

 

He leaves his hand there a moment more, as she's staring at the door -her breathing getting heavier. 

 

When he sees that she's not moving, he takes his hand off. 

 

Eventually she turns, and he waits until she looks up at him. 

 

When she does, he inhales, narrowing his eyes like he just remembered something:

 

 

"---Do you mind showing me your bedroom first ?"

 

 

Her breathing stops.

That makes it extra difficult for her to articulate those two little words:

 

"My ...bedroom ?"

 

 

He sees at the way she's looking up at him that she actually thinks there's a chance she didn't hear correctly. 

 

 

She did though.

 

 

"Yes, Rey." he states clearly, voice deep to counter all ambiguity. " _Your bedroom._ " 

 

 

Summoned, the blush devotedly spreads on what he can see of her nose, forehead and ears.

The message has definitely been delivered. 

 

Her hand's shaking a bit, as she holds her keys, probably focusing on her breathing.

 

It'd be painful to watch if he wasn't already hardening.

 

He thinks he's only being helpful when he reaches to gently hold her wrist and open her hand delicately, feeling her tense when he touches her, as he says softly: 

"Here, let me take care of this," --taking the keys, before sending them flying across the room to the couch with a swift movement, letting go of her.

 

 

He's back at staring at her in silence.

 

She still hasn't moved. 

 

 

 

It's alright, they're not in a hurry. They'll get there.

 

 

Her appartment is so small it's obvious to anyone who enters where the bedroom and bathroom are, as there's only one -fifty-feet long- hallway separating the living room from the rest. Meaning there's only one way left to the bedroom.

 

Despite this he relishes asking her: 

 

 

"-- _Which way is it_  ?"

 

 

After a moment, she whispers, pointing adorably behind her, her eyes staring somewhere at his chest:

"Th--this way," 

 

He hums.

"Okay. Why don't you lead ?" -adding, because he's a funny guy: "I'm afraid I'll get lost on my own."

 

All he hears in return is her breathing, even though he can see she's trying to be discreet.

 

Since she's really not moving he starts worrying a bit. After some time, he feels he needs to reassure her, not even trying to be funny in the end when he says: 

"If you don't remember where it is, Rey, it's fine. We can--"

 

She turns mid-sentence, not abruptely but he's still caugh off guard.

 

He doesn't follow her right away, and watches as she walks toward the ajar door at the end of the hallway. She doesn't turn to him exactly, but she stops. 

From there he hears her say simply: "It's here."

 

That's all he needs to get moving, the same way she did, with cautious steps, making the wood creak weakly under his weight.

 

As he approaches her he hears her breathing got heavier, but she slowly pushes the door open and enters.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From bless_my_circuits, a perfect song for the last chapter <3 :
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_Sp61BtOW4
> 
>  
> 
> From Tempus_edax_rerum, to represent Ben and Rey's relationship:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yj6V_a1-EUA
> 
>  
> 
> I loved discovering those songs, THANK YOU
> 
>  
> 
> And here's my contribution:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YVyhCvXc-a4


	28. Letting go

 

 

The room, again, is quite small -though unlike the living room it looks empty.

 

 

There's just a wooden chair in a corner, an old, wooden wardrobe on the left of the bed, and --ah, the  _bed_ , at the center of it.

 

It's higher than most beds, too large to be a single size bed yet too narrow to be a double size somehow. Like most of the furniture, its structure and headboard is made out of a dark wood.

 

She stands at the end of it in her parka, arms on her sides, and turns to him before looking somewhere on the wall.

 

He stops in front of her, facing her, not getting too close yet.

 

Her breathing's so heavy that it's all they can hear in the room, despite her trying to be as quiet as possible. 

 

She needs a distraction badly, so he points at the first thing he sees.

 

"What's that ?" 

 

There's a black and white poster taped to one of the door of the wardrobe.

 

She gladly takes the opportunity for diversion although with a uneven and rather weak voice, reciting like she's being tested by a teacher at an oral exam. Meanwhile he takes her parka off her wordlessly, doing his own thing, and she lets him do:

 

"It's a movie, from the thirties -that's part of a trilogy ? -it's french- about a --a-bartender, who's a wannabe sailor, and-- his childhood sweetheart who--sells fishes, and--" 

 

Once he's thrown both their coats on the chair, he gets closer and goes on with the same mindfulness in his movements, to not startle her, but also acting like what he's doing is only natural, the next logical thing to do, his face unfazed, as he starts lifting up her skirt.

 

It's not extra tight, not that loose either; he goes back and forth rolling it over her thighs, up to her waist.

 

He's quite impressed at her attempt to keep on talking at first despite her tensing all over, but it's too much only a second after, and she goes perfectly quiet, out of air. She stares somewhere at his chest again, and not because she wants to. She's just trying to focus on something.

 

It's almost completely silent now.

 

He takes his time rolling her skirt at her waist and tucking it there, eyes on what he's doing, not yet on her cotton panties he just exposed, saying flatly:

 

"If you can't talk anymore it's fine, but keep breathing. I don't want you dead."

 

He hears her exhale faintly, following his advice. When he's done, he lets go of her, think for an instant, then settles for:

 

"I can't help but feel you're in need of some extra-care."

 

He's hoping the red setting the fine skin of her neck and cheeks aflame is evidence his meaning isn't lost.

She doesn't move an inch. 

 

"Rey?"

 

"Yes?" she manages to get out -barely.

 

"...Would you like me to provide?"

 

"Yes." she replies, with a dramatically dry voice from the lack of air.

 

He gets closer, staring straight at her face, and slowly brings his hand between her legs. She instinctively grabs his shoulder and pulls on his shirt at his stomach.

 

She's pointedly staring at his chest, her own shuddering when his three fingers push flat against her slit through the fabric of her underwear. Without any kind of warm up, while not even trying to put any method into it, he starts to rub up and down and more or less in circles, from her entrance to her clit back and forth, with his other hand in her back pushing her to him, looking down at her, already drunk on what he's seeing.

 

If he thought she wasn't breathing before he was wrong; she doesn't take any air in for a solid ten seconds, her body slightly rocking under his touch.

 

"I'd love to have a taste, but I wouldn't be able to look at your face at the same time, and that's the best part." he comments, as he would about the weather.

 

This shirt is ruined. She's twisting it so bad, it's already stretched beyond recovery.

 

He follows her gaze and looks down at his chest, not for any reason in particular other than that she's been staring at it so intently he felt compelled to check what was there, and as soon as he does she turns her head a bit to stare at his shoulder instead.

 

He traps a chuckle before it's out. 

 

Only then does he realize she's following his rhythm, pressing his bicep everytime he goes up, then releasing her hold by somewhat flatening her hand everytime he goes back.

 

He's getting quite flustered himself to see her being all quietly compliant despite her obvious struggle.

 

He lets go, exhaling sharply through his nose.

 

Way too quicker for someone so shy, her hand lets go of his arm to reach coyly between her legs, but he catches her wrist before she does.

 

It's a sharp pink spreading over her whole face again, as she still can't look at him. 

 

He doesn't miss her trying to squirm discreetly to rub her thighs in reaction.

 

"Arms up." he commands.

 

It's as if he could hear her heart skip a beat.

So to relieve some of the pressure he unintentionally put her under, he says:

 

"Or we can go bowling."

 

He really meant it to make her understand that she could change her mind, not expecting she'd take that as a downright  _threat_. She lifts her arms up in a second, her hands trembling being the only indication she's struggling with her own desire. 

 

He delicately rolls her long sleeved shirt over her head all the way up her arms and off, tossing it aside and repressing a smile when he sees she stays her arms up until he actually has to gently push them down.

 

It's only clear now how fast her chest rises and falls. 

 

He slides his hands around her sides, making her flinch despite his slow movements, getting closer to look behind her, his head above her shoulder, to unclasp her white cotton bra. 

 

As soon as he takes it off of her she hurries to tuck her arms and hands to her chest to cover what's there.

 

 

_That's not gonna do it -at -all._

 

 

"I never got to see those, and my cock's been aching at the thought ever since I missed the opportunity," he says matter of factly.

 

 

She nods: "Okay" 

 

Such a sweet girl.

 

 

"Nice to see you agree," he replies dryly.

 

But her arms don't leave her chest.

 

 

He waits a few seconds, to see if she'll act on her own. She doesn't.

 

 

"Can  _I_   hide them then?"

 

 

"Mmh?" she goes, and the sound's much higher than he'd expected.

 

 

" _Can I be the one in charge of hiding your tits?_ " he repeats, articulating each word clearly.

 

 

She goes impossibly crimson.

 

 

He explains nonchalantly: "My hands are much bigger, I'll be more efficient."

 

She gulps silently, eyes fluttering as she lets out a "Mmh."

That's the most he can get. 

 

"Yeah, you agree, right?" 

 

He tugs gently at her hands to get her to act on her decision, not intending to do much more. To his great pleasure, he doesn't need to, as she soon visibly forces herself to drop her arms on her sides. He holds up his end of the bargain by taking handfuls of both her breasts at the same time, palming them right away, feeling her heart beating  _furiously:_

"There." 

 

No air gets in her lungs once more.

 

He rubs his thumbs at the center of them, not caring to pretend he ever intended to keep them hidden even for fun, pressing them good, before bending to take a mouthful and suck on them without any grace -holding her in place with hand in her back.

 

Her rib cage is locked the whole time.

 

"--remember that good idea I had about breathing ?" he reminds her between two wet sounds.

 

He stands back up, sucking off his own lips -bringing his hand between her legs again. 

 

Mouth closed near her forehead, he lets a drawn-out groan rumble in his chest before saying with a low voice, clenching his teeth despite himself:

 

"...I don't know what you think, but dinner seems ready."

 

She only responds with a strangled  _what._  

 

He lazily strokes again once or twice, muttering to himself: "...ready to be served," then lets go of her once more -she doesn't try to replace him this time. He pays close attention to her face, at how her eyes widen when he brings his three fingers wet of her arousal to his mouth and sucks on them greedily, before nodding with a hum to confirm. 

 

"Take off you panties sweetheart."

 

He's got some nerve, because he says that with the tone of someone who doesn't have a choice, as if he tried his best to avoid this but their circumstances left them no other alternative. She abides by his request clumsily, her hands still trembling a bit. 

 

Yeah.

 

What a sacrifice.  

 

"Keep the skirt on, I might need it to hold you in place," he warns, as he turns to take off his shirt and unbuckle his belt.

 

She stands there, busy with another flush. Still trying to keep her breathing under control.

 

When everything's off he comments briefly on how hard he is, because why not. He does so while putting his clothes on the chair near his jacket:

 

"If you think it's about you being naked, you're wrong. All it took was one blush."

 

 He's folding his clothes, his back to her:

 

"Go ahead, angel. On the bed."

 

She goes on all fours on the bed with just her skirt at her waist, and as he's about to join her he notices she kept her white socks on.

 

Exatcly how hard can he get?

 

She lies down on her back, folding her legs to hide what's at the apex of her thighs.

 

Unluckily for her he mercilessly reaches to grab her ankles and pulls on them to part her legs.

A first small yelp.

 

She's her fists tight against her chest, as he crawls over her, causing her to rock slightly as each of his movements disturb the mattress with his weight -before he finally,  _finally_ , lets himself down on her, settling between her legs, eliciting a small sound just by meeting her burning skin with his own -his cock hard against her hip.

 

He's almost trapping her under his weight, feeling her rib cage push against him as she's trying to breathe steadily. Half a laugh rumbles in his throat when he sees her turn her head to her shoulder, looking away as if she was trying to hide her face from him or pretend she doesn't know what's happening, that he's here -except his face is an inch away from hers.

 

"You're such a pretty thing," he murmurs at the corner of her mouth, and it gives him the opportunity to note he's almost out-of-breath already.

 

"How about we resume?"

 

It's all it takes for her to grip his shoulders good, bracing herself and biting down on her lip, her feet rustling the sheets a bit. She's still looking away, and he's still looking right at her, as his hand caresses its way down her breast, her stomach, her thigh before reaching between her legs.

 

He grunts at how wet she is, getting a first finger to slide past her folds and inside her with an indecent ease. It's only the next best thing to have her bucking and rolling her hips under his touch, her thigh pressing against his hip all the while looking away and trapping the smallest sounds in her throat.

 

He looks down at her, smug somewhat when he cooes:

 

 _"Look-at-you_ , working that hand--"

 

She doesn't have the time to let that sole comment make her shyness comes out full steam, because she gasps sharply, her eyes rolling back and her brows creasing when he adds another finger:

 

"-- _here_ ," he says, "cause you're so good at it."

 

His thumb draws loose circles over her clit, as he thrusts into her, still self-possessed, taking his time.

He finds out he can't do that for too long though, because she soon rolls her pelvis against him with a telling strength as she's  _panting_ , when he knows damn well all she wants is to be quiet. So he withdraws his hand -eliciting the cutest sob, her mouth falling shut to muffle any future sound.

 

Her glassy eyes searches for his at last; she sees him lick and spit in the palm of his hand. He reaches down to stroke his cock once or twice, before pressing it against her slit, rubbing it there, feeling her shiver all over, as she's trying to blink away the intensity of what she's feeling.

 

He doesn't care anymore about being  _cool_ , and starts pressing into her only a moment later.

 

She freezes, teeth clenched, her nails digging his skin as he slides the head in, stopping to take in some air. 

 

He lets her stretch a bit around him, sucking her neck in the meantime, his hands going up to push back the hair from her forehead.

Her bun came undone.

 

She breathes rapidly through her nose, eyes closed, eventually relaxing a bit.

 

He pushes further. Both their body tense, as he hears himself growling in her neck: " _Aaahfff---ffuuck."_

 

To what she only responds after a few seconds with a hoarse and small: "- _ugh_ \--"

 

His first thrusts are experimental, slow, as he patiently works her. She tries to trap cute sounds in the back of her throat, most of the time to no avail, until sooner than he thought he feels he's fully seated -observing flatly through his breathing:

 

"...we made it."

 

She presses her thighs on either sides or his hips, trapping him there. He hums in satisfaction, rolling his hips as slow as can be against her:

 

"Mmmh --how  _nice_  is that--" he starts, because he's sure he can stay well-mannered more or less, proving himself wrong a second later when a new burning wave runs his whole body, getting him to grunt through clenched teeth against her cheek as her face is yet again turned away from him:

 

_"---taking that dick like a good girl."_

 

She whimpers despite herself, shutting her eyes from shame, blood blooming under the skin of her cheeks, as her hips are treacherously looking for more friction. 

 

He can't help it, although this time he tries to speak with a softer voice:

"Yeah? ... You can't  _look_  at it, but you sure can take it, can't you?"

 

She opens her eyes, looking anywhere but him again. He kisses her cheek chastely as he slides in excrutiatingly slow to the hilt, watching closely, encouraging her to speak although without much hope:

"--You take it good, don't you?"

 

She shuts her eyes hard turning her head to one side the most she can, her mouth against her shoulder when she gives him the smallest nod. 

 

"... _yeees_ , you do." he growls, before snapping his hips against her, getting her to open her eyes as a throaty "Ugh !!" comes out of her. 

 

Aware of what he's about to do to her, his voice is soft and his thrusts gentle when he speaks again, taking his time, enjoying the anticipation almost as much as the predictable outcome: 

 

"Go on," he starts, catching his breath before a rougher thrust, making her squeak, "...show me how  _good_  you can make those pretty tits blush--"

 

She cranes her neck out of embarrassment, unpurposefully giving him a better view catching in her mouth a small whimper, looking up at the headboard this time, still to avoid his stare, eyes glossy -as her blood rushes back under her skin to heat up her whole neck, her shoulders. Her chest.

 

"Theeere-it- _iiiiis--_ "  he cheers with a raspy voice. "... _just the fucking best."_

 

He swipes his tongue flat on her hot skin, ending his licks with greedy wet kisses on both her nipples, as if chasing the burning blood under, humming, paying tribute to it, her chest rising and falling along with her panting. 

 

"Well done," he says finally, his voice hoarse, before sliding out of her without warning.

 

He sits back on his heels, breathing heavy, stroking his cock absentmindedly. She takes support on her elbows looking up at him, confused. 

Wordlessly, he gently grabs one of her leg and pulls it toward him to get her to turn. He's  _delighted_  when she almost hurries to roll over and lay on her belly, folding her arms to her sides, her hand on her mouth, looking up at him expectantly, quiet.

That's not exactly what he wants though, so he grabs her hips to get her to be on her knees and she lets him, although her eyes go wider, and her fists nervously close on the sheets. Her face is pressed against the mattress, her ass in the air. 

She seems to compensate the way she's exposed to him by hiding her mouth better and tucking her arms good against her.

 

He gets behind, kneading her cheeks with both hands, unable to keep his breathing under control at the sight. 

 

He assesses he has to spread her legs further apart first, so he parts her knees better. She doesn't protest, her back arching more.

 

He takes a good hold of her skirt, feeling her tense again, and finally he slowly slides back in.

 

She breathes through her nose, not letting any sound out although the way she closes her eyes is the way one does when appreciating a good meal.

 

He's only very gentle and patient until his hips presses against her ass, which is why it's such a shock to her when he holds onto her skirt more firmly unannounced -and  _charges_.

 

She yelps at the beginning, shaken, quickly losing her voice to the sound of flesh snapping, retrieving it for a few strangled squeaks when he slows back down. She pulls a pillow to her and buries her face in it to breathe hard.

 

"That was beautiful," he compliments her, out of breath, "I'm particularly impressed by how high you can hit the notes."

He slaps her ass on that, getting her to squeal in the pillow:"-- _right_ , like that." he confirms in a huff.  

 

He eyes the pillow she's hiding her mouth with.

 

If she thinks she's gonna deny him his rewards, she's got another thing coming.

 

He bends a bit over her to take a hold of her shoulders carefully, getting her to take support on her arms, before putting her hands one after the other on the headboard of the bed: 

 

"Here angel, cling to that. Hold it good."

 

He hisses through clenched teeth as he starts with slow, thorough thrusts, rocking her gently, his hands reaching back for her skirt. He sees her knuckles whiten, probably from anticipation. 

 

She tries only for the first few seconds to somewhat rock against him in rhythm, only to contract her whole body, her arms like iron from gripping the headbord, to get through the serie of brutal thrusts he puts her through, her mouth opening wide soundlessly. 

 

When he stops, breathing hard, her left hand falls immediately on the bed, shaking, and he gently takes it by the wrist to put it back on the headboard:

 

"Hold this a bit longer, sweetheart -I'm not quite done with your lovely cunt."

 

He lets her whimper before going again, and this time she doesn't manage to keep in a drawn-out moan that comes from the back of her throat, made uneven by his strokes.

She thinks he's finished this one serie when he slows down, and so she takes a good dose of air; but she gets a surprise with a blow that sends her forward with a high-pitched cry.

Because he didn't have a good grip of her skirt he slides out of her.

 

Her hands hastily let go of the headboard to find the sheets as she puts down her head against the mattress again huffing, then hiding her mouth with her hand, eyes closed.

 

"Beautiful" he mutters once more.

 

He spreads her knees better, her back arching, and holds her in place with one hand gripping one ass cheek, his other hand sliding his cock against her folds, rubbing it a few times against her clit, as he feels his core burn when he hears her hum, when he sees her fists clench and her back arch some more.

 

But he lets go of it and retreats a bit.

 

She opens her eyes, without daring to look at him, visibly confused as to what's happening. She rolls her hips without meaning to, arches her back more; she rocks tentatively one or two times on nothing, clearly not owning it. She looks at him then, trying to hide her mouth behind her shoulder; she's hot, but he still can see her cheekbones have gotten a shade redder.

 

"What is it?" he tries to ask with an innocent tone, although his ragged breath makes it sound predatory. "Hhm? What is it angel ? --You seem bothered." 

 

He hopes her frustration will get it out of her, although he can't help but caress her ass with a distracted hand in the meantime, not so good with frustration himself.

 

Her swallowing and blushing all over indicate she got the message but can't deliver. 

 

He's wondering if he's gonna follow through or take pity on her, when laboriously she pushes on her hands, taking support on them with both her arms still trembling slightly -getting herself on all fours, her head down.

 

On its own it's unexpected but she's not done, because her timid, sweet shaky hand reaches for the headboard, and the other does too, taking the strongest grip at it for what she seems to be hoping is to come. 

 

_He can most definitely call that a progress._

 

"Here baby, is this what you want?" he asks, as he slowly slides back in, and the pressure makes her stiffen and suck air through clenched teeth. She hides her mouth behind her arm, embarrassed by the sounds that come out of it. 

 

" _Fuck!_ " he spits, before asking again: " _Is it?_ "

 

He has to be attentive but she gives it to him closing her eyes, a faint "... _mmyes"_ hummed against her arm, as she's unable to let her answer known without trying to silence it in some way.

 

 _"There_ ," he cooes, out-of-breath, rocking her ever so slowly, his hands holding her hips firmly to press into her to the fullest every time he slides in. "You precious thing, take it all, here."

 

He rolls his hips lazily against her, running a hand from her belly up to her breast to take an avid handful as she gasps, as if she forgot he could grab her there. 

 

Her knuckles are white from holding the headboard, and she's pushing against him, but because her eyes roll with a contented hum, half shut, he growls, grabbing the hem of her skirt somewhat discreetly : "...don't fall asleep just yet."

 

Her attention clearly isn't at what he's saying, since she opens her eyes wide in surprise when he starts to snap his hips against her, each thrust sharper than the one before.

 

When she squeals the most high pitched cry, her hands hanging on that headboard through the whole thing like it's her salvation, a self-satisfied smile creep on his lips as he slows down to bend over her, kissing her shoulder blade, groaning:

"...such a pretty song you're singing." -drawing yet another moan from her lips.

 

 

The wardrobe is calling his name all of a sudden, as he realizes he might have something even better at hand's reach.

 

He pulls out of her, and gets up, eyes on it, as she lets herself rest against the mattress, eyes half-shut, hair wet around her forehead.

 

 

He opens the right door of the wardrobe and actually closes his eyes from having his wish granted, exhaling through his nose. He can only assume she won't feel the same way though as he gets back on the bed, anticipating her reaction like a child afraid he'll get in trouble. 

 

She stayed in position, his sweet angel, but she still watched him do, yet she hasn't showed any kind of reaction, so he can only guess she's just too pure to link the dots, oblivious as to why he opened her wardbrobe. He feels bad about his dick hardening even more at the thought. He does.

 

"Come on," he says softly, grabbing one of her arm to get her to face the wardrobe, preparing himself for any possibility as he goes back behind her. 

 

She's on all fours, her head down, her breathing pacing up a bit although he's yet to touch her. 

 

He holds her waist now, sliding back inside her, patient, seeing her bite on her lower lip to keep a moan in with her eyes closed. 

 

He should appreciate what he has. 

 

He should, but he bends over her, taking support on one hand, thrusting gently still, encircling an arm around her waist as he kisses her neck, finally telling her: 

 

"Look, sweetie."

 

For some reason that's not intriguing enough for her to open her eyes or say anything more than a small " _uh_?"-the directive getting lost in her daze.

 

Her focusing on her pleasure is such a sight, it's a true shame he has to interrupt that. 

He has to, though. 

 

 

"Look," he repeats in her neck between two huffs, lifting his eyes up to take a look himself. "Look who's on TV."

 

Now  _that_  sounds strange enough to make her raise her head and open her eyes -only to finally see their reflection in the mirror fixated on the inside of the wardrobe door.

 

She widen her eyes and  _immediately_  ducks her head back down with a squeak to hide, her forehead against the mattress, her fists twisting the sheets, as he admits with what he hopes is a soothing voice: 

 

 

"I know, I know... it's a bit much."

 

 

Careful not to hurt her, he gently grabs at some of her hair to get her to crane her neck a bit, as he looks in the mirror, still rocking her:

 

 

"Come on... Open those precious eyes of yours."

 

 

She shuts her eyes harder, unable to catch a desperate sound at the request.

 

He puts wet kisses on her shoulder, tasting her, before saying again: 

 

"I know you can do it angel --open them."

 

 

 

It requires the greatest effort from her to open them - _but she does_.

 

 

He's sure she'll close them in a second, but still he says "--you sweet thing...  _Thank you_. Here's your reward," reaching around her waist to rub two finger against her clit.

 

Sure enough, she closes her eyes, lips closed, muffling a long moan. She then instantly starts a serie of the cutest pants, lips pink and swollen from biting on them too much.

 

The sight is the best he's ever had, he thinks, because he has no idea something better is coming his way.

 

On an excellent intuition he stops moving, stilling his hips and his hand, and it makes her open drunk eyes again at him through the mirror's reflection. 

 

Tentatively, he barely rocks against her and as she looks at herself in front of them she closes her eyes again, bowing her head.

 

He stops once more. 

 

He hears her exhale in frustration through her nose, her fists clenched on the sheets still, and on any other occasion he'd have chuckled but he's too busy drinking in what's happening.

 

She's already red in the face from the effort, but he knows it's about to get to an indecent shade when she raises her head up, opening her eyes with what's the closest to a determined face she can show.

 

Slowly, he starts giving her wary thrusts again, and every time she closes her eyes either from shame or from pleasure -likely from both each time- she opens them back almost right away to get him to go on.

 

Now she can't miss his clenched jaw as he's trying to reign himself in for it to be progressive, the drunk stare he gives her, lips pressed tight, the way he grabs lazily at one of her breast, how he straightens back up to grab her ass with both his hands -all valid reasons by her standards to close her eyes, all of it causing the strongest embarrassment she's ever been brought to feel, as she's confusingly trying to make sense of the fact that she wants more, since she pushes back against him again and again every time he presses into her.

 

 

Slowly but surely, as she tries to keep her eyes opened, with each thrust she gets a shade redder, all over her face, shoulders and chest.

 

 

 

It looks like he's actually fucking the blush into her.

 

 

 

_And he gets to have her see that._

 

 

He can fucking die right there.

 

 

 

" _My god_... how pretty you look," he tells her with a hoarse voice -interrupting himself with one good thrust, sharper than the other, making her jolt, then adding, clenching his jaw hard: "Pretty all over..."

 

He exhales sharply through his nose.

 

"I can make it even prettier" he mutters, throwing himself a challenge. 

 

He grabs her elbows gently one after the other, quickly tightening his hold to a bruising level kind of hold, as he starts fucking into her like there's no tomorrow to make her yelp before her mouth stays open soudlessly -but her eyes are shut hard.

 

He slows down and lets go of her arms; she's on all fours again, trapping guttural moans behind closed lips, breathing hard through her nose. 

 

He bends over her, holding her by the waist, to hum at her ear, cut off at times by his own hard breathing:

 

"I don't want to be unfair to you sweet bird, you did good. Really good--"

 

He pauses, kissing her shoulder.

 

"--but I'm gonna have to ask you to try and open your eyes good to watch those tits bounce."

 

 

She makes a pitiful sound from shock before letting her head fall to hide her face from him again, her breaths short. 

 

 

"I know." he agrees. "I'm an asshole."

 

 

Still he badly needs her to see things from his perspective. 

 

 

"It'd be a shame for you to miss that though," he breathes, "it's the loveliest thing there is--" 

 

 

She raises her head barely then let it fall again.

 

 

"You're ready?" he asks, not waiting for an answer. He grabs her arms again, pulling so that her back is arched enough for her chest to be in plain sight. She's still her head down, trying to catch her breath, as he starts:

 

"One.

 

Two."

 

 

He stops counting there and attacks, watching closely if she'll manage more or less to have a peek.

 

 

She raises her head up: her moans get stuck in her throat as her eyes goes from her chest, to him, to her face - closing, then opening again, all of it to the sound of flesh snapping.

 

 

It's only the icing on the cake to see those tits of hers blush among all things, as if they were self-conscious themselves about what was happening.

 

"-- _fuuuuuuck_ " he spits, mad, his jaw forward.

 

 

He lets go of her arms and hurries to bring his hand around her waist to her clit, bending over her, as he feels he's got a minute left _at best._

 

 

She lets her head fall on the mattress,  _grateful,_ taking fistfuls of the sheets with a renewed strength, arching her back, pushing back against him; he's a fucking mess, doing his best to speak coherently:

 

"So beautiful, taking me, sweet bird -you feel so good around my cock," he mutters, his voice wavering: "--come on it, show me how well you do it --how pretty you make it-"

 

 

As if all he had to do all this time was  _ask_ , she opens her mouth without a sound yet again, her eyes falling shut, her fists clenching.

 

 

" _YES_." he roars, as he feels her walls convulse around him, her whole body stiffening, while his thrusts become less certain and his eyes glassy -before he stiffens as well over her, coming finally, letting out ragged gasps as he does, bruising her hips to hold her still.

 

 

 

Her legs are shaking when he pulls out of her.

 

She lets herself go limp on the bed, turning to lay on her back.

 

 

He doesn't think twice before laying down by her side, spent -wrapping a leg on one of hers as if he did it a thousand times before, pulling her by the waist to him.

 

She lets him do, looking at the ceiling, letting her heart's rate go back down.

 

 

Her face is a perfect picture, all details of it singing about the peace inside her. 

 

 

 

He himself is satisfied. Sated.

 

 

Content.

 

He is, so he really has trouble making sense of the faint restlessness blossoming in his chest.

 

 

 

He buries his face in her neck, her hair, breathing her in. 

 

 

As if he did it a thousand times before. 

 

 

As if they never stopped seeing each other. 

 

 

 

He tries to stop himself before getting there, but he understands he's a bit late when his throat gets as tight as can be.

 

 

It's a mystery, how he fights through it to speak anything intelligible, and he can't be sure she understands the first time he says it, even more so since he  _breathes_  it more than anything else on her skin:

 

 

"I missed you."

 

 

He stills, trying to hear his own voice through the deafening sound his heart make, trying to find a better way to explain why his voice is uneven, why his breathing isn't settling, finding he can only repeat:

 

"--I missed you."

 

There's no other word to add, and any intonation will do. The message is pretty simple, so he just holds her tighter, probably too tight. He can only imagine it sounds like he's praying: 

 

 

 

"- _I missed you, I --I missed you_ \--"

 

 

Like he's begging her to take it into account. 

 

She only aknowledges him by grabbing gently his arm crossing her torso and stomach, her eyes shut.

 

 

 

He shuts it down, swallows it down, only wishing he's not bothering her. 

 

Soon he doesn't dare to move at all, doesn't dare to breathe on her, not to mention speak again.

 

 

How can his silence sounds so loud to him when hers is only quiet?

 

When he does speak again, some ten minutes later, it doesn't feel like speaking -the sound of his own voice seems to come from far away:

 

 

 

"I... I should... go home."

 

 

His impulse was to ask, his self-doubt made it a statement.

 

 

She breaks free of his hold and sits up in the second, looking straight at him, agape -not bothering to cover her chest, which might be a good enough indication that she can't believe what's happening.

 

 

He hurries to take support on one elbow, stammering: 

 

 

"I--I--I'd like to stay, though, can I?"

 

 

It does nothing to clear the air. Her ears must be buzzing, and before she keeps herself from doing so, she sends a hand hard across his face, turning it to the side with her blow.

 

 

He's shocked, sure, which is why there's one second or two where he's trying to make sense of just how in the fuck this shit happened. She covers her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes even wider, and pleads against it with a muffled, strangled voice : " _\--sorry, I--I'm sorry, I'm -I'm really sorry--_ "

 

 

If he needed proof she cares that should do it.

 

 

He recovers quickly, as this has the merit to clear his head for good, and he pulls her down to him, slowly muffling all the sorries that are coming out of her, holding so thight she soon doesn't have enough air to speak.

 

He's appalled that he carelessly put doubts into her yet again on the base of unfounded insecurities.

 

When she calmed down somewhat, meaning her breathing's still unsteady from what happened but she stopped apologizing and moving nervously in his arms, he states low against her temple:

 

"I'm sorry, Rey." He takes a second to let that statement have all the room necessary for her to grasp how much he means it, then he adds to make sure she does: "Unlike you I don't say it often. So you better believe I am." 

 

He feels her shiver, and he'd like to think it's from relief, or anything else, but he knows she just started to cry silently, as usual trying not to make any sound, when he feels her hot breath in his neck and a first tear on his skin.

 

He feels crushed like never before.

 

"I'm the most sorry asshole on earth," he says matter of factly.

 

When he tries to look at her, she has the instinct to bury her face some more in his neck, likely to hide from him she's crying, although she can only be aware he already knows. 

 

He kisses her cheek gently, her nose, everywhere her tears left trails behind, as she doesn't move not even a little bit, her eyes somewhere on his skin.

 

 

 

"Be careful what you wish for, though, angel," he warns with the sofest voice there is.

 

 

"From now on I'm never letting go."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mcwbCAJ1UWM
> 
> imnosaint drew this beautiful [fanart](https://im-no-saint.tumblr.com/post/177132120865/i-promise-i-could-do-better-than-this-but-im) for this chapter =''D
> 
>  
> 
> THANK YOU, it's the absolute BEST


	29. A sting

 

 

Life... is... terrifying.

 

The water is running down his neck. Rey is shivering already, her lips a bit blue. Seconds can be really long. Nothing dramatic is happening, he's not in any kind of danger. Yet what he's feeling now is quite close to terror.

He's been in showers with grown men in prison, most of them who were okay persons but others not so much, and it's facing her in one that makes his knee weak.

 

That's not how those past two weeks since their first date have felt.

 

For several days in a row, whenever he's in the street, or taking the bus, or at the Blue Cow, he's shouting in his head constantly.

 

It's never the same thing, but it goes along the lines of: 

 

> _LIFE IS EASY. LIFE IS FUCKING EASY._  
> 
> _I found it ! The ... THING, the ---secret of ---the world, life, I FUCKING FOUND IT._

 

 

But he doesn't say it, he just imagines he's shouting it, and he realizes soon the result is that he's just scowling in public for no apparent reason at everyone who pass him. 

 

Ah, _fuck'em._

 

After that first night, the lovemaking is _incessant_. 

 

It's about catching up for lost time for both of them -and if it's not that, it doesn't really matter. He wants to fuck her all the time and she wants him too, apparently.

 

The second day he spends at her place, she's clinging to his neck, catching her breath, not relaxing at all or falling asleep like she does when she just came, so he holds her tightly. She's on his lap, straddling him, her face in his neck, body flush against him when she asks:

 

"Have you been with anyone?" 

 

Her voice is always so certain, so even whenever she speaks after she had sex. He doesn't think he'll get used to it.

In that moment, it only serves to make him more ashamed of himself, as he understands she's talking about the fact that he didn't bother to bring any kind of protection. And he's got no excuse now, he's not on house arrest anymore. The fact that she's asking this when his come is dripping out of her doesn't do any good either for his self-esteem, and although he just came it wakes him up. He stammers:

 

"I'll get--- tested, I--I-- you won't have to worry anymore. I'm sorry."

 

That gets her to receide a bit, facing him, as she stammers back with a weaker voice:

 

"How... how many?"

 

"How many what?" he asks, because he's an idiot. He realizes almost right away : "How many  _partners_?" 

 

She's looking right at him but her chin's a bit inward; she's asked him but she's clearly not owning it, which means it must be worrying enough to her that she'd fight through her discomfort. That only makes him the more ashamed and scared at how that small negligence from his part might ruin this for them.

 

He looks down, unable to look back at her: "None, but, I get it, Rey, don't worry --I'll get a test anyway, I get why you'd want me to." 

 

He feels like a teenager. She's not dumb, it doesn't make it okay in any way that he'd get tested  _now_. And despite being perfectly aware she's a grown adult herself, that she can take care of herself, make her own decisions, he can't help but put the whole responsability of this on his shoulders for some reason. He wish he didn't, he wish he didn't think he's the sole responsible but it's not easy given how she has so much trouble articulating what she wants and what she doesn't want. 

 

She's unbearably quiet, so he looks up at her to apologize some more.

 

Only to see she's beaming at him.

She's smiling so hard it's intimidating, smiling so much she lowers her gaze again, self-conscious about her joy for some reason. She snuggles back against him.

 

It hits him then that she didn't ask because they had unprotected sex. She just wanted to know if she'd been the only one since.

 

He doesn't tell Colette right away. It's a superstitious impulse on his part to keep quiet about it, and it makes him  _miserable,_  because all he wants is tell everyone, and especially Colette, although he's scared shitless that her reaction won't be the one he's hoping for.

 

But after three days only he can't keep it in anymore, and he gets quite close to her around ten. She's cleaning the ketchup bottle with a brush at the sink. 

Him getting that close, like he has a secret to tell is unusual enough but she keeps looking at what's she doing, rincing the bottle. He clears his throat. 

 

"Uh, hey, Coco?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Remember --remember Rey, the woman I was seeing this summer?

 

"Oh, you mean the woman you ran after on our night out, then waited for like she's the second coming of Jesus Christ our lord and savior? That woman?' she deadpans, her eyes still on her work. 

 

That's not what he'd call a smooth start. 

 

"Uuum yea, that woman."

 

"What about her, white boy?"

 

He swallows, and despite his nervousness it's impossible not to smile a little bit when he says:

 

"We ...we're dating."

 

Colette freezes, a blasé expression on her face, and puts down the bottle.

He expected her to react immediately, so he watches her every movements, not smiling anymore, taking a step back, confused. She dries her hands with her apron, and when she's done finally she looks up at him.

 

" _No. Shit._ "

 

He blinks.

 

"W--what do you mean?"

 

She goes on with a flat voice, a fist on her hip: 

 

"You finish work on Wednesday looking like you're gonna end yourself, leaving me worried sick, then come back the next day singing  _Annie's song_ , but,  _yeah_ , shocker, thank you for telling me, I was really wondering."

 

He puts his hands up as if to make her slow down: "Hold up, now, that's just a blatant lie, I never sang  _Annie's song_ \---"

 

Just as he says that he stops mid-sentence, remembering Rey put on an album of John Denver in her car. 

 

He straightens, vexed. 

 

She looks somewhere behind him: "You hear that Ramirez?"

 

Ben turns. A few feet from them, standing in front of a bunch of cupboard boxes, the assistant manager looks up from his clipboard like he's slept two hours in his entire life. 

 

"White boy and white girl figured it out." she informs him.

 

Ramirez turns a bored eye to Ben. 

"Congrats."

 

" _I'll go the cold chamber Coco. I'll take in the order Coco. Don't worry Coco, I'll take care of this_."

 

Ben looks back at Colette, blinking some more.

 

"---And today you're telling me, like it's a state secrecy. I swear, kid,  _you're funny,_ " she says, shaking her head, a smile creeping on her lips finally as she passes him.

 

As if their first night together was a magical formula, a spell they'd ought no to break under any circumstances, the proceeding a lucky charm to what's been up until now a rocky relationship to say the least, they repeat it exactly, every night that follow, like a ritual. Desperate for a routine. A routine together.

 

So every night, she cooks, and he looks at her do her thing, constantly getting out of her way as she moves around in the kitchen, while he talks the whole time or she does, and they eat, or rather he eats and she squirms on her chair blushing and looking down.

He finishes his plate, then he doesn't even bother saying anything and picks her up to carry her bridal style to the bedroom, where he fucks her gently or not so gently, saying obscene things to her in between praises, and some two hours later, after a nap of sorts, she pads away to the kitchen to bring back her plate turned cold in bed and eat it.

 

Only four days of this, - _four_ , not a month, not a week: four days- and one evening, he comes home -because he already calls it home in his head, since he's obviously became insane, he really shouldn't call it that even in his head or he'll say it out loud one day and she'll freak out- and she's cooking. Nothing unusual so far that'd make him sweat. 

 

But it doesn't take long for him to notice she's cold with him. When she wants him out of her way that night, she doesn't say "sorry", she just waits in front of him for him to move, like she's giving him the silence treatment.

 

He's talking to her, telling her about the rush they had at noon at the Blue Cow, how Colette shut the shift manager down and that he'd like for her to be the godmother of all his children, and she  _interrupts him_  - _legit interrupts him_ , to ask him to hold a pan.

 

And of course on its own it's nothing -his pleasure, really, he'll hold anything for her -but the way she does it, not looking at him, not inviting him to go on with his story, he knows she hasn't been listening at all. 

 

Again, even _that_ isn't a big deal, he reasons -yet he finds he's actually hurt, and goes quiet for the whole next forty minutes it takes her to finish her cooking.

 

There's just frying and boiling sounds between them, along with the clangs of the tools she's using. 

She sets the two plates and sits without a word when it's ready, eating - _eating !_ \- not caring to invite him to sit even with a shy look like she often does.

 

She's eating but still, there's restlessness in her, though not the usual kind. She's not blushing. She's almost  _scowling_ , or at least that's what a scowling version of her face would look like. She's scowling by her standards.

 

She's breathing like she's focusing hard on something, but he has no fucking clue what.

 

He's not hungry. At all. 

 

He moves his food around a bit, trying to determine what he's done, what he said, and nothing comes to mind other than he's a terrible human being -but that particular fact didn't seem to bother her three days ago ! And nothing has changed in the meantime. 

 

He finally takes a bite, chewing methodically like he's never tasted food before, looking down, when she speaks.

 

The volume is  _reeeally_  low -nothing surprising here. He almost doesn't hear her, like it happens all the time.

But the way she says it gives him chills -actual chills. Her voice is the most even it can be, and she's looking  _at him_. 

 

Of course, there's evidence of her uncertainty; she's not moving at all, and her expression isn't exactly a determined, fearless one either. So overall he'd say that he's just stunned to hear that tone of voice  _coming from her_ , more than hearing it period.

 

"Move in with me."

 

The shock, the relief, the bliss come all at once but none of them make him hesistate, or make it to his face, or his voice, when he shoots back:

 

"Okay". 

 

She doesn't move an inch, so he tenses, wondering if he misunderstood. She's still looking at him intently, and that's such a bizarre, terrifying picture, to have that woman he's seen struggling with a debilitating shyness at all time look at him like he was the prey all along and tonight's the night she's finally gonna eat. 

 

She speaks again, still with an even voice, but getting the words out tentatively, like she just discovered she has a superpower and she's learning how to use it:

 

"...move in tomorrow."

 

So he understood right after all. 

 

The relief, again, that that was indeed the question makes him almost grit his teeth at her like he's mad she scared him over nothing when he says:

 

"Okay. _I will_."

 

She blinks a few times.

She found a special trick and she can't believe it worked, amazed that he's complying, acceeding her request. 

 

The way she looks down at her plate after that, then the way she brings some food to her mouth with careful, very slow movements, seem to be because she's afraid something will break the spell, like he's gonna change his mind if anything in the air is disturbed. 

 

But she's eating. Apparently it's mission accomplished for her, everything can go back to normal. 

 

He can't believe that was really it. His heart is thundering insanely. 

He's happy beyond belief, so of course he's scowling. 

 

She doesn't seem to pay attention to that -could it be that she already knows him well enough to be unfased by a face that would only make the next person piss their pants?

 

His tone isn't threatening when he speaks in turn, but it definitely comes from a place of vengeance:

 

"I'm gonna fuck you to the moon and back tonight."

 

He's never seen a blush spread so fast, and that's saying a lot with her. She stops her chewing, and works her food down like she's eating solid for the first time in her life. Then she slowly puts her fork down as she knows it's game over -she won't be able to take another bite.

 

There.

 

That's more like it.

 

He doesn't have much, so the move goes pretty smoothly. 

It's him, his clothes, and ---that's it, that's all he has, actually. His clothes and some money on his bank account. A ridiculous amount. 

 

He hasn't had much since prison. 

 

After only seven days of living together, she's cooking and he's lurking around her as usual, when he blurts out that his father left when he was fourteen, like he's actually sick and it has to get out.

That's a door unlocked now and he goes on saying it happened from one day to the next, that Han went to live somewhere else on the planet, he never knew where exactly, and that he died eight years later, leaving to his only child an indecent amount of money. 

 

Not millions, but enough to live several years without doing shit. 

 

Which he did. 

 

Actually, he didn't do  _nothing_.

 

He did get shitfaced every chance he got. 

 

He needs to come clean with this, as he's to share rent with her now. 

 

"When I was arrested, all that was left went into the lawyer's pocket." He clears his throat, finishing with a feeble tone: "--the prison bills, and --the, the probation officer's bills. Etc."

 

He wants her to understand he's got close to nothing.  

 

He thinks she understood it crystal clear because she stops stirring what's in her pot and her eyes are on him, stilled, like she just realized she made a huge mistake he thinks, and he wants to tell her it's alright, he can go back at his mother's, she shouldn't panic -but she asks:

 

"Did you bury him?"

 

He's caught off guard, sure, but he hesitates also because he thinks so rarely about his father he actually has to  _think_ to be able to answer. 

 

"He --no, he was cremated."

 

She takes a few seconds, and he would have thought she was done on the subject, but she keeps her eyes on him. It's like she's waiting for him to speak more, and when he doesn't, she does:

 

"My parents were buried."

 

That's how it happens. 

That's how she speaks about her parents to him for the first time. 

 

Because he's choked on it on random occasions since he's been with her, he doesn't wait to reply, wondering if that's not the piece of information he wanted to give her all along: 

 

"I know."

 

She had her head down, and she picks it up with round eyes. Hand still closed on her wooden spoon, not moving it.

 

He explains himself right away.

 

"We went to their funeral. My mother reminded me of it the other day."

 

He's a lighthouse to her all of a sudden, she doesn't want to loose sight of him. Her face is all about hope and bitterness at the same time. 

 

He can't explain why but it breaks his heart when she says, vaguely pointing at her chest:

 

"I... _I_  went to their funeral."

 

Like they found something in common that's a happy coincidence, except the tone isn't a happy one. 

Because they're talking about her dead parents.

 

According to their age difference, when he was eleven, she was five. 

 

He feels his throat get impossibly tight. She seems so okay with the subject, eager to talk about it even, but she doesn't say anything else. 

 

She's her chin slightly forward, like she's trying to find back what she wanted to say, short on words, desperate for the conversation to continue except she's got nothing to say. 

 

...because she likely doesn't have any memory of it, he realizes. 

Nor of them.

 

He feels he's crumbling inside when she repeats, because she has nothing else -her sentence dropping to a murmur: 

 

"I--I was there... at their funeral."

 

She's still her hand closed on the spoon, not moving, turned away from the stove, the pot's content slowly reaching up the brim.

 

His fists are nervously clenching and unclenching.

 

Some things nobody likes to do yet they have to be done.

 

"Your... Your mother used to give me her... loose change."

 

The words sound stupid, meaningless, but they feel something else entirely.

 

Her eyes go back on him. She's holding her breath almost, as if she only had one chance to hear this and if she didn't he'd never repeat it to her.

 

"I couldn't place her when my mother talked about her the other day. But--" He swallows.

 

He doesn't get why his voice is uneven when she should be the one quivering. She's only quiet, listening attentively.

 

"--but, I remembered her clearly some time later and that's... That's because you look exactly like her."

 

He looks down, shaking his head in an attempt to apologize to her somewhat:

 

"I'm actually surprised it took my mother telling me, for me to understand you were related. I should have made the connection right away. You... You're her spitting image."

 

He raises his head up because he hears water hissing. The soup is overflowing.

It is, because the information has reached the recipient.

 

Tears are rushing to her eyes, fighting for attention, racing across her face. She's keeping her lips pressed tight, shaken by silent sobs, trying to look at him through her tears but she has to shut her eyes hard soon. 

 

He gets closer, opens her hand wordlessly and makes her let go of the spoon, before pulling her to him as he turns off the stove.

 

She grips his shirt in his back. Her face is pressed against his shoulder, every sound getting muffled. He only hears her inhaling sharply from time to time.

 

He's certain he's holding her way too tightly not to be hurting her. But he can't help it.

 

It's unbearable, still it feels like the beginning of something.

 

Like a sting, before the flesh heals. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A song for the chapter Fishtank, that I still want to post for this one, from  
> LBellicose:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N5kKenry2kU
> 
> Thank you, I LOVE IT, loved all the songs you've suggested so far =D
> 
> Here's my contribution: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9f5zD7ZSNpQ


	30. A kiss

 

>  
> 
> _"Did you really say no?_
> 
> _Well, I thought you meant yes_
> 
> _There were shadows in your hair_
> 
> _There were flowers on your dress_
> 
>  
> 
> _Did you really say no?_
> 
> _Well, I thought you meant please_
> 
> _[...]_
> 
> _And the flowers turned red_
> 
> _And the shadows grew tall_
> 
> _Did I make you disappear?_
> 
> _Were you ever here at all?"_
> 
>  

 

 

It happened from one day to the next; he opened a door and walked in. Now he's happy.

 

He breaks two lamps and one cooked terra cotta pot in the span of five days.

But quickly he learns by heart how to navigate through them, whether he does it from the kitchen to the corridor, or from the corridor to the bay window or the TV, or if it's to get to the couch. Despite this he thinks he'll eventually tell her to cool it with the hoarding.

As day pass, he doesn't. Ending up convinced somehow that that's the way things should be.

 

The bed is too narrow for two persons to sleep in it. It gives them a good excuse to always fall asleep snuggling.

 

Every night though, she kicks him out of the bed in her sleep and he lands with a loud thud on the wooden floor.

He's stunned at how fast he gets used to it.

He gets up grunting, disoriented, eyes barely opening, and crawls back into bed, pulling her right against him, trapping her against his chest. He just hears her hum, or feels her stretch barely in his hold. Unperturbed.

 

He gets up every morning before her and grabs the plate she left on the ground near the bed the previous night, after eating her dinner in bed. He brings it back to the kitchen, where he does the dishes. There's usually a ton of it, because there's all the kitchen ustensils she used to make dinner and he tries not to make any noise, discovering pretty soon she's a heavy sleeper.

 

He feels so content doing the most trivial things, living the most simple life, that he hardly can imagine what could endanger his bliss.

 

The threat is real, he learns soon, and it comes from within. 

 

He's put up to date about that fact when he comes home after she already ate one night, because one of his AA meeting has been scheduled later than usual. 

 

Everything's dark when he passes the door. There's only a trail of light coming from the bedroom, stretching all the way down the corridor. 

He ignores his hunger and takes off his shoes to pad to the ajar door, opening slowly, without a noise aside the creaks of the wooden floor. 

 

She's sitting up in the middle of the bed, her eyes closed, like she just now heard him and sat up just before he opened the door. Until that day he didn't know she had pyjamas. 

She's trying to keep her eyes open but the faint light of the bedside lamp makes her close them back everytime. 

 

Without a word he approaches the bed and crawls next to her, and as he does she lays down automatically on her back, like it's the only thing to do -her eyes still closed. He hums, laying next to her, kissing her neck, down to her chest through the fabric. 

 

She opens her eyes then, more or less looking down at him, breaths a bit shorter. 

He slides his hand under the shirt on her belly then slowly up to her breasts, caressing lazily with a flat hand, then slowly pushing the shirt up to uncover them, making her chest rise under his touch, her rib cage stilling as he looks at her breasts intently from up close, his face barely apart enough to be able to look. 

"Hello you two." he mutters.

His eyes flick to her. She looks at him, somewhat peaceful, because she just woke up or because it's only a normal occurrence already to her that he'd adress her tits. 

"I've been away from them the whole day," he explains to her, a smirk flashing on his lips, before he puts his mouth on one, inhaling quietly through his nose while he suckles a nipple distractedly, making her faintly gasp, stopping to lick and kiss the pad all around, his nose a bit crushed in the soft flesh as he gently presses it against his mouth. 

He can tell she's not indifferent, her chest is rising and falling in an uneven way, but she fists his shirt at the shoulders pulling him a bit higher, and so he doesn't try to go on, thinking she has her reasons not to want him to continue -whether she's too tired, or something else. He pulls her shirt down, smiling to her when he says "sorry".

He lays down by her side looking at her, and she's looking back when he'd expect her to close her eyes and go back to sleep right away. 

 

It should have made him think already.

 

It's alright though, because he thinks back on it later.

 

_Oh._

_She wanted a kiss._

 

That seemingly harmless realization sets a train of thoughts he's unable to stop, not that he's aware he should stop it anyway, in the beginning, as he simply thinks it's  _funny_  how she always wants to kiss him  _after_  they had sex.

It's systematic, another ritual of sort. And all of a sudden, he's curious about it. Why that is. 

He first determines it's got to be a comfort she seeks after being pushed farer than she'd go, a comfort he gladly gives her with just as much dedication than the rest. A deep, thorough kiss calms her down, settles her even more than an orgasm does, if possible. She's the opposite of a sleeping beauty; a kiss will put her to sleep, her face as relaxed as can be, at peace. 

 

The fact that his mind kept on going back to those post-coïtal kisses should have alerted him, should have made him understood he was in denial about something. But he stays oblivious.

 

So it's from a place of pure innocence that he then ponders if it isn't just about shyness once again. She's always hiding her face before they have sex, covering her mouth, hiding in the crook of his neck.

She never tries to kiss him before sex.

 

He's at the Blue Cow of all places, when the thought pops up in his mind out of nowhere, as he's not even thinking about her, which is rare.

 

If she never tried to kiss him before sex, he never did either.

 

He's not too bothered by that realization at first. He thinks there isn't much behind it. 

Eventually, he does. 

Eventually, that's all he thinks about. 

She's always had to ask for it. Always. 

 

When he comes home this time, he does so with crippling doubts in mind. His stomach is in a knot, like he's having a stage fright.

At dinner, he's as nervous as her, for once. He barely eats. Maybe she picks up on the change, because she tries to make him talk but it falls flat.

 

His heart is beating madly as he goes to the bedroom on his own, not inviting her to join him, or carrying her. He lays down on his back on the bed. Then waits.

 

To see if she'll join him on her own. It's an agonizing wait.

 

He knows damn well it doesn't mean anything if she doesn't -it doesn't mean she didn't want to join him all the times she did, it doesn't mean she doesn't want him, he knows that. 

Yet that's exactly what he believes it means deep down.  

 

He's staring at the ceiling. His heart is so loud he doesn't hear her quiet steps approaching the door, so until it opens he's just spiraling further down every second that passes. Everything he thought was proof of her interest in him being reduced to misunderstandings, to misinterpretations -to nothing. 

 

But the door opens slowly, and she quietly enters, peeking at him. Blushing. 

 

It doesn't calm him down. Now his heart is beating just as much, but for a whole other reason. 

He's scared of what she'll do. He's scared he doesn't know her.

 

This time, there's just no way he'll do anything to influence her.  

 

Somehow, his heavy breathing and his serious face soothe her nervousness a bit; as if seeing him nervous balanced her.

 

She tentatively puts a knee on the mattress, making it barely sink, stopping there, testing the waters, waiting to see what he'll do. 

 

He'll do nothing -she just doesn't know that. 

 

He only looks at her, head a bit turned to her, hands on his stomach. He's still fully dressed. 

She must be wondering why he hasn't said anything yet. He likes to think it's once again to avoid influencing her, but the truth is his throat is too tight. 

 

Still she has to check if he's still the person she knows, the change in his behavior making her doubt that maybe, so she murmurs, her chin a bit inward, watching his face closely: 

 

"--hi."

 

His breathing gets a bit more uneven, and his voice isn't as assured as he hoped it'd be, when he says  _hi_  in return. 

 

That's her cue to get on the bed and kneel by his side. She looks at his hands, and he hates that she might be drawing conclusions from the fact he's not touching her already, thinking maybe he's mad at her, or doesn't want her -but he tries to stick by the fact that it's not about her tonight.  _He needs to know what she wants._  

 

It never crossed his mind she'd want to be kissed before.

How insane is that? 

 

He's got the confused feeling that it's ill-advised on his part to let a kiss, if she kisses him, put all they've done, all he's done to her, into orbit; to let a kiss make him question whether she ever wanted what he thought she wanted, whether there's things she did want that she never dared asking for. To let a kiss be proof she can't speak for herself, or that he's not attentive enough. 

 

Knowing that doesn't calm him down. 

 

He's sure now she never expressed clearly what she wanted or didn't want. And if he knows deep down she actually did, then she didn't express it  _clearly enough_  -and if she did express it clearly enough then  _it's not clear enough to him anymore_. It's not, it won't do, it's not enough. 

 

She inhales, like she's about to speak, then goes quiet for another minute.

She's unaware she's going right for the throat when she finally speaks, in hushed tones, stammering a bit:

 

"Can---can I kiss you?" 

 

He turns his head away, closing his eyes. He wishes he didn't, but it's instinctive. He tries regulating his breathing, turning his head back to her. Nodding.

 

She bends over him.

 

He sees her reach tentatively for his hair first, sinking her fingers in it, grazing his scalp gently. Like she's the one getting the pleasure out of it. It feels like his throat is closing on his heart. 

 

He can't imagine she has any idea why he's breathing so heavily, although through his nose, trying to be discreet, when she lies down next to him on her belly, taking support on her elbow next to his shoulder, to bend and put the most timid peck on his lips. He feels her breathe unsteady against his cheek.

 

She recedes a bit, pink all over her cheekbones, scanning his face for any bad reaction to what she did, and when he only stares back, breathing heavy still, she goes down again to press her lips to his, closing her eyes, longer this time, releasing a sweet sound when she parts.

 

He swallows with great difficulty, looking at the ceiling.

 

When she strokes his cheek gently, he looks back at her. In the moment he doesn't get a chance to know his eyes got blurry because he's lying down, so the tears are quick to roll from the corner of his eyes to his temples. 

 

She ignores it if she noticed, and there's a chance she didn't since he's not making any noise; the tears are rolling silently, taking a short cut while they'd be in plain sight were he to stand, and she lets out a short hum when she wets his lips tasting them, blushing all over.

 

She slowly rolls to lay on her back next to him. 

He thinks she's done, but she pulls him to her.

 

His turn. 

 

Breath stuttering, he bends down to her lips, feeling them part after he presses his wet lips there a few times.

 

Deepening the kiss leaves him out of breath in no time, and she hums small sounds against his mouth, eyes closed.

 

When he parts slightly to look at her face she opens her eyes to stare at his lips, her chin forward a bit, trying to reach his mouth with her own, her nails digging in his shoulders, sighing when he comes back down to resume. She goes limp under him.

So he doesn't interrupt until she stops inviting his tongue in.

 

It lasts the longest time. Until their jaws hurt. 

 

She doesn't initiate sex.

 

Doing in the end the exact opposite of what he's always done.

 

A kiss is just a kiss. 

 

He repeats himself that, again and again.  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a song brought to you by aysteria, to represent Ben and Rey's relationship:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N5kKenry2kU
> 
> Here's a song brought to you by cbalazeit, to represent the whole fic:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksrb33z3boo
> 
> Then Missing a Muse was listening to this while reading this fic =D  
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJxrX42WcjQ
> 
>  
> 
> I loved listening to them, thank you so, so much for participating in this playlist =)
> 
>  
> 
> Here's my contribution for this chapter:  
> On Ben's doubts about Rey's consent, reciprocity and commitment
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SaK4t6hKKO4


	31. Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER (lol):
> 
> This is technically the LAST chapter of this fic, the following chapter being a -lenghty- epilogue. Just a head's up. 
> 
> See you in the end notes =)

 

 

He hasn't thought about his father maybe at all, these past few years. 

 

That's all he's thought about for the past week, or at least it feels like it.

 

"Where you going?"

 

Ben asks him that just  _because_ , that day; he's not even interested in the actual answer. He's all ears poking out of his short hair and long limbs, on his bike in front of the house, frowning because of the sun in his eyes; and when Han walks to his car, Ben asks him where he's going.

 

Because he's bored. 

 

"Son, I'll... I'll come back tomorrow, tell your mother." Han says back to him, getting in his car. He can't even look at his son.

 

Ben's used to that. Han often leaves for no apparent reason, to go God knows where, only to come back some forty eight hours later without an explanation. 

 

He's blasé about it.

"Okay."

 

He watches the car go, quite indifferent about the situation. 

 

Unaware he'll never come back.

 

Both he and Leia go on with their lives the first couple days. They don't even mention it.

But a week goes by, Han hasn't come back, and Ben hears her cry through the walls one night. She's not that noisy, it's difficult to make out. He only hears her because he himself can't sleep in the first place. 

 

He's quick, so quick to understand he shouldn't wait for Han to come back. He understands it way sooner than Leia.

Nevertheless, for six months at least, he pays extra attention to the sound the cars make when slowing down on his street. Not all, but some of them have engines that rumble the same way his dad's car does.

 

He goes through his first nights of insomnia.

 

As for Leia, she goes though her first period of depression. She lies on the couch all day long. She sleeps there too, at night, not bearing to sleep in the bed she and Han shared anymore.

She tries to catch up on lost time and get closer to her son, but he can't help it, he's only cold to her for the longest time. Because he's a stupid teenage boy.

She's never been one to give in to big displays of affection, even when he was little, so it's only out-of-tune to him when she tries to be tender for the first time, as he's already fourteen. 

 

When he learns the news of Han's death, he feels _resent_. 

 

That settles it. 

He won't see his father again in this lifetime.

 

Colette snaps her fingers in front of his face. He blinks.

 

"Is it a coincidence, that the black woman busts her ass while the white boy rests?"

 

He zoned out in front of the toasters.

 

"Sorry," he mumbles.

 

There's amusement in her eyes, yet she adds:

 

" _Sorry_  ain't gon' make slavery go away."

 

He looks at her, mouth agape, falsely shocked. " _Jesus,_ Coco _._   _Chill_."

 

"...daydreaming like a damn fool," she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.

 

Daydreaming. He wishes he was.

 

He doesn't know what the fuck's wrong with him, but if everything could go back to normal, it'd be nice. 

 

He's counting on the lunch rush to busy his mind, or rather empty it, to clear his head, give him a break.

 

It doesn't exactly do the trick.

 

When he eats with Colette later on, she says out of nowhere, catching him off guard: 

 

" _So_. How many white babies we're gonna get out of that sweet lovin'?"

 

They've talked on and off about Rey since he's moved in, or rather  _he's_  talked about her, and she has listened begrudgingly, and more  _on and on_  than on and off. But for the past five days, he's been awfully quiet about her.

 

Or just quiet period, really. 

 

He feels a strange ache in his chest at the mention, because he knows he hasn't initiated sex for five days now. Not that it's a crime.

At night, he holds her to his chest like she's a fucking air balloon and she's gonna float away in his sleep if he doesn't keep her there. He doesn't know how it's even possible that she hasn't complained yet. He's gonna smother her one day. A good thing is that she keeps kicking him out of the bed in her sleep every night. 

 

He kisses her greedily, most of the time when it's clearly not opportune, because he feels the urge to, out of need but also out of panic.

 

It's a thing to be done. Not a chore, but a  _necessity_ , like watering a plant. Him being the plant.

 

But he hasn't gone beyond that for five days now. Yet his answer to Coco is immediate, automatic, indicating  that despite himself he's already thought of it:

 

"Eleven girls, Coco. Then we'd have a soccer team. And I'd fucking train them. They'd be unstoppable."

 

She just eats her fries.

 

He takes a bite of his burger, and then adds, his mouth full, admitting:

 

"--nah, it's a joke. We haven't discussed how many we want yet."

 

That's when she picks her head up, narrowing her eyes, baffled: 

 

"...Of course _it's a joke_ , I was joking myself when I asked. It's only been a month _."_

 

He frowns. "...Oh."

 

She shakes her head again. 

 

They eat in silence for the next two minutes maybe. 

 

"Coco."

 

"Yes."

 

She doesn't look up. 

 

"We..." he stops, puts his burger down. He won't pick it up again.

He's not hungry anymore.

 

"You like me, right?"

 

She quirks an eyebrow. Not exactly confused, because she keeps eating, more  _curious_  as to where this is going.

 

He doesn't know where. He just knows he's going there.

 

"I'm--You enjoy my company, don't you? ---Sort of?"

 

Now there's a lump in his throat, and she stops chewing, eyeing him.

 

"You wouldn't, you... you wouldn't disappear on me...?" He swallows. "We're  _friends_ , we're--" he stops, recitfying, like he went too far: "--we're more than  _colleagues_... we care for each other... right?"

 

He looks at her. Her face is blank.

 

She inhales deeply: 

 

"You  _idiot_.

You big, dumb,  _idiot boy_."

 

He gets the message right away, but he still doesn't like that she chose to give that answer. His shoulders drop and he shoots back flatly:

 

"--so that's a no?"

 

She winces, narrowing her eyes like she can't believe it:

"What  _on earth_  are you talking about,  _disappearing on you_? Boy do I look like Houdini?"

 

He stares at her, silent. She stares back, unimpressed, then says slower:

 

"...I said  _is there a bunch of rabbits in my bag_ , tell me?"

 

It doesn't make him smile. He lets a few seconds go by, looking down. Then he repeats, much lower, ashamed he actually needs her to take him seriously. 

 

"---yes, Coco.  _Disappearing on me_." 

 

Her traits soften, but somehow, his gravity seems to anger her more. Which is why she says with the softest tone there is, to be sure he focuses and  _hears_  her: 

 

" _Ben_." A pause, as she knows how to emphasize.

"...I'm going  _nowhere_. ---That's final."

 

He stills, processing it.

She on the other hand wordlessly gets up to bring back her tray. Making clear she said everything she had to say.

 

 

Rey can't be a hundred percent oblivious to the fact that something's off about him. His change in behavior isn't small. She can't really have a clue what the extent of it is, though. 

Because he's constantly around her, like a moth around a flame, asking her random questions, interested to know her opinions about everything, like does she find grapefruits too bitter, and can she nap only twenty minutes without being foggy when she wakes up, or has she ever worn her hair short. 

She's such a sweetheart she indulges his curiosity when she really shouldn't, given how he'll never come close to feeling like he knows enough about her.

 

He steps back sometimes, afraid she'll push him away if he doesn't.   

He loves being around her so much he can't fucking leave her alone. 

He dreads the day she'll tell him to  _get a life_.

 

He swallows his doubts down. She can't cook that night, she doesn't have the time, because she has to correct a stack of her students' tests. She's sitting at the kitchen table, bent over the copies.

 

And like a proper ball and chain, he slows her down with his nonsense, sitting next to her, grabbing a test she just graded and showing it to her.

 

"An _F_ , Rey? Really?"

 

She looks up at him with round eyes. 

 

"Yes," she murmurs. 

 

He narrows his eyes in return: "I  _meeean_ , can I know why?" he asks, like he's the parent of the kid, and he came to find her during office hours. 

 

Her eyes go to the piece of paper.

 

"It's blank," she whispers. 

 

"It's blank." he repeats flatly, like it's not a valid reason.

 

"Yes."

 

"What's this then?"

He points at some numbers at the top of the paper.

 

"The date."

 

He raises his eyebrows, like he proved his point. "So it's not  _blank_. That student of yours knew what day it was. I think it's deserving of a bit more than an F."

 

"It's not the right date."

 

He opens his eyes wide, turning the paper back to him: 

"Shit, it's not?"

 

"No. The test was on the 13th." she explains calmly. 

 

He's at a loss for words. 

 

"Well... I mean... --he knew, that... he had to write the date?" He clears his throat. "Also his name isn't mispelled."

He winces, asking lower, afraid of her answer: "--is it?"

 

"No, his name isn't mispelled," she concedes.

 

"Ah. See?"

 

He grabs another one, then frowns when he sees a note at the bottom of the page, muttering as he reads:" _You look pretty Miss Niima_  --HEY." He straightens. "--Who the fuck is this kid? What's his deal?"

 

Her eyebrows shoot up. She seems scared that he might be serious.

 

" _Kidding_. Kidding, of course." he hurries to assure her. "I know they're thirteen."

He puts down the test, muttering: "... Jonathan Matei."

 

She returns to her corrections.

 

He grabs another one, and notices a second student wrote a message on her copy.

 

" _Sorry Miss Niima I just don't like math. It happens. Sorry._  ---now that's just polite. I say we give her a B."

 

A smile plays on her lips that she tries to hide, her chin inward, her eyes on the paper in front of her. 

 

"You'll notice she made no mistakes in the one sentence she wrote," he points out.

 

"I'm a Math teacher. Not an English teacher."

 

"Yet look who's playing on words."

 

He takes pity on her at some point, and gets up. 

He stops before leaving to look down at her. 

 

She's focused, bent over a test, her face way too close to what she's writing. Looking more like a student herself than a teacher. 

 

He clears his throat, then leaves. 

 

He usually takes a shower in the morning, but as he walks to the bedroom, rubbing his neck, exhaling in an attempt to lift the weight off his chest that he's felt all day, he figures he needs one badly.

 

He turns on the shower, and undresses. 

He catches his reflection in the mirror before stepping in.

 

He's put on some weight. His steps are heavier than there were a few months ago, and his waist, back and shoulders look somewhat thicker. 

 

For some fucking reason it makes him think of his father. 

 

He sighs, rubbing his eyes for a moment. 

Then steps in the shower and closes the curtain. 

 

The hot water hitting his neck is welcomed. The light is dim through the curtain. His forehead rests against the tiles, his eyes are closed -until they're not anymore and he's just staring at nothing, for way too long, numb  -letting the water run. 

 

He's pulled out of his  _daydreaming_  when he hears the door quietly closing.

 

He tilts his head to hear better, but he doesn't make out anything at first through the noise of the water. 

 

Then he hears some ruffling.

Before it's silent again.

 

He can't explain why but the fact that she doesn't say anything only prompts him to keep quiet. 

Him not making any noise must be so strange from the other side of the curtain. As he's not moving it sounds like the water is running on nothing, like someone forgot to turn off the shower.  

 

When he exhales he realizes he's been holding his breath. 

 

His heart skips a beat when a small hand silently reaches for a side of the curtain.

 

Its fingers delicately close on it. 

Then slowly, very slowly open it.

 

He doesn't move at all as Rey appears, naked entirely, her head down. Her eyes peek up at him before looking back down, one arm stuck accross her belly. She steps in. 

 

It's a first.

 

She wordlessly closes back the curtain, dimming the light again.

 

He's tensed all over, shielding her from the water. 

 

He inhales nervously when she gets closer to him, her chest not touching him but close, and she cranes her neck to look up at him, breath a bit unsteady, reaching his face with very unsure hands. 

He exhales sharply, brows knitting, as he bends to press his lips against hers. 

The contact gives him such a relief he's dizzy. He sighs, closing his eyes, letting himself lean against her mouth. She runs her nails on his scalp, humming. He parts only to come back again, deepening each kiss a bit more, feeling his heart pound right in his throat, as he puts his hands flat in her back to get her closer to him. 

 

He stills, opening his eyes. 

 

She stares back in them, receding slightly, a worried crease on her forehead. 

 

He looks down.

 

Her hand wrapped gently around his cock. 

 

As soon as he looks down she lets go, hiding her hand sheepishly against her torso under her other hand, a blush spreading on her cheeks. 

 

"Sorry," she breathes. 

 

But the blush reddens even more when he doesn't move. 

When he doesn't tell her what he always does when she apologizes for no reason.

When he doesn't call her angel. 

Like she's afraid she did something that got her in trouble.

 

He hardly can take notice of her discomfort, as his reach another level.

His heart is deafening at this point. His jaw is set. He doesn't recognize his own voice when he speaks, lacking the air to do so properly:

 

"--for what?"

 

His tone is soft, and it's a genuine question. 

 

But she clearly perceives how it's accusatory, because she hides a bit better behind her arms, although he can only be surprised she doesn't look away. Her face is a few inches away from his. 

 

There's a few seconds of silence between them, where he feels he's watching it all happening from outside his body. Trying to steady his breathing is a loss of time. 

 

Her lips are a bit blue, her eyes round from apprehension. She senses a storm is coming. 

It's a ravaging one that wreck everything on its path. The only sounds it makes are the words that fall from his lips.

 

"--you left."

 

She freezes.

 

There's no need to add anything else, for her to immediately understand it's about last summer.

 

Saying it out loud makes his head spin. His heart is out of control.

 

Right away, he understands the crosspath split in two cliffs he had to jump off from.

 

He couldn't keep it in any longer.

 

Yet now that it's said he knows by the look on her face he did something terrible he can't undo.

 

Her chest rises and falls rapidly. She presses her lips tight to keep them from trembling. 

 

His own vision get blurry.

 

He's only defeated, giving up, when he murmurs:

 

"...thought I forgot? ---cause I didn't."

 

As if his quiet words shoved her, she opens the curtain and steps out.

 

The front door slams two minutes later.

 

 

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees.

There's only the light coming through the open bathroom door to cut the dark, as it stretches along the wall of the corridor and more or less makes it possible to discern the outlines of his surroundings. He's in his briefs and a t-shirt. 

 

Letting things unfold.

 

Struck.

 

It's been thirty minutes and he doesn't dare moving.

It's not a deliberate choice, his legs wouldn't let him stand up. He's frozen. 

 

Everything comes crashing down and it seems there's nothing he can do to stop it. 

 

A quiet panic dimly settles in his chest as the situation gradually turns into a reminder of what life is like without her.

 

Everything seems so beyond his control he feels like a boy again.

 

When the door opens, the sound is foreign to him, he can't comprehend what it means.

That's how little he expected her to come back.

 

Silence again. He holds his breath to better hear what happens next. 

 

Her steps in his direction don't convey that much determination, but they land differently enough on the wooden floor to immediately make his throat tighten back with a vengeance.

 

Seeing her form is another cue for him to grasp even better now what he gave up.

 

He stands up as she doesn't slow down, head low, like she won't speak to him, like she's just back to pack some clothes. He can't make out her expression in the dark.

 

He stammers, getting the words out before she gets in the room.

 

"I'll, I'll leave. I'm sorry,  _I'm sorry_."

 

His eyes are wet, and he's grateful for the dark, shameful.

He repeats, more resolute despite hating with all his might that he's forced to say that to her.

 

"I'll leave, Rey."

 

Instead of passing him to go to the wardrobe, instead of slapping him like she once showed she would, instead of nodding, all things he's imagined her doing on a loop in the past half-hour, she goes to him -and grabs his wrists.

 

"No."

 

Her voice is ragged, tone is sharp. Her grip on his wrists is so tight it hurts him, still he can feel she's trembling. 

 

She lets go of one of his wrist to wipe something off her cheek he can't see then grabs it back.

 

What the obscurity lets him see of her face isn't much. Some light comes from the street through the curtains  that allows him to see her eyes don't leave his.

 

She tries to quietly catch her breath, articulating finally, her voice wavering:

 

"Take off your clothes."

 

The message doesn't register. It's coherent with nothing he's analyzed of the situation.

 

Thankfully, she repeats, letting go of his wrists:

 

" _Take them off._ "

 

Underneath her timid ways, he recognizes an undercurrent of anger, so he's very confused as to what's about to happen.

 

Yet he wordlessly obeys and pulls on his shirt to take it off; then pulls down his briefs.

 

As soon as it's done he doesn't have the time to feel awkward because she orders, although almost whispering, quickly, as if she was afraid she might lose her nerve if she hesitates:

 

"Lie down."

 

He hears her breaths shorten when he slowly sits down, his eyes on her. 

 

He recedes back on the mattress, compliant, his chest ready to burst. 

 

Only then does he really recognize her fully, in the way her hands are on her sides, trembling hard as she approaches the bed. She takes off her shoes.

 

He then watches her as she reaches under her skirt, eyes avoiding his.

 

Rolling down her panties.

 

He inhales sharply when she puts a knee next to his hip, his fists closing on the duvet under him. 

 

As soon as she straddles him, her hands find his chest, and his own hands go to grab her hips -so tight he  _knows_  it's gonna bruise, but it's nervous, all his muscles are as tense as can be, his jaw set. He breathes rapidly through his nose. 

 

She leans forward, letting her hands run up his chest, his shoulders, then down his biceps, but not for long.

 

She soon reaches between her legs, and it only takes a few tentative strokes from her for him to grunt weakly under her, bucking his hips a first time. 

 

He gets hard in a ridiculously short amount of time.

 

She  _sighs,_  closing her eyes, when she slides his cock between her folds, like she's finally getting what she wanted.

 

Her breathing gets heavy.

 

He swallows, slowly relaxing.  _Wet_  and  _warm_  is all he can think. 

 

She rolls her hips tentatively a first time, and he bucks his pelvis in response, eliciting a gasp, as if she forgot in the meantime he could move. 

 

She leans forward until she's against him, her hands clinging to his shoulders, as she rolls her hips, again, again - _and again_ , each time with more expertise. 

 

Just watching her do, imagining the blush he must miss out on, as she uses him, setting her own pace, is such a raw experience for him he's afraid his moans will scare her if he doesn't muffle them.

 

He's still disoriented, but he lets it happen, feeling confusingly that he needs this, closing his eyes under her care. 

 

She straightens back up, holding her breath when she places him at her entrance, and he tightens his hold on her hips even more, clinging to her. 

 

She starts slowly sliding down on him, bracing herself with a hand on his chest, turning her face on the side with her eyes shut hard. 

 

The high pitched, small squeal she lets out, as her face scrunches up, renders him helpless. 

 

As if she got surprised by her own sounds she bends, her chin inward to hide, slowly taking him all the way down, making him growl at her, his jaw forward, as he refrains himself from sitting up and laying her down to fuck her like she deserves to be fucked.

 

This is so much better. He's going to whine at the sight. At how she doesn't dare to fully enjoy it, hiding the pleasure she gets from it, hiding her face, keeping her movements under control, until she gradually can't control herself much anymore, chasing all on her own what will soon be at her reach. 

 

His shy, sweet, _courageous bird_  sliding up and down his cock, like she can dispose of it because it's hers -he lets go, lets her take charge of him, unable to think properly as a loop of words rolls on and on in his mind.

 

_\--yours-yours-yours-yours-yours-_

 

He thinks that's all he ever wanted, that's all he needs, that's all he'll ever want, until she picks her head up to look right at him.

 

He sees them then, trails of tears shining faintly on her cheeks, and he stills, holding his breath. She digs her nails in his chest, sniffling loudly, before he hears her whisper, making everything around them fade out:

 

"--I love you."

 

All tension evaporates from her face.

 

She still holds his gaze through her tears, when the beginning of a shy smile grows on her lips.

 

She repeats it just a bit louder:

 

_"'I love you, Ben Solo."_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To conclude this fic, here's a final song from me:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vgx8AhlrwuI
> 
> "Dearest I'm broken  
> My body's unspoken  
> How could I be loved?  
> Wake up in the morning  
> Feeling uncertain  
> Like a burning old scar
> 
> For I remember  
> The courage I had as a child  
> Various colors I'm hiding inside
> 
> She's a rainbow, ah...  
> And I am a difficult man"
> 
>  
> 
> And you can also listen to LeiaMyLabrador's contribution to the playlist, to represent Ben and Rey's rocky relationship: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKWz0zJ-j9w
> 
> And Missing a Muse's contribution for last chapter: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v_yTphvyiPU
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for those songs =D
> 
>  
> 
> OKAY, SO. Several things. 
> 
> First of all, there's an epilogue coming. But it won't be the end of it just yet.  
> As you've maybe noticed, this work is part of a serie, the second part of that serie being a collection of one shots that I plan on writing. 
> 
> There'll be time jumps into the relationship, additional sex scenes from Rey's POV, peeks into their past lives, and so on. So if you think you might be interested in reading those, I can only advise you to subscribe. 
> 
> I also intend to start a new fic, fairly soon, although I can't say exactly when. Once again if you think you might want to check it out, then maybe subscribe?
> 
> Finally, and because I must think this is the Grammys or something, I want to thank the beta of this fic, who was patient enough to clean up my mess although I often posted before they could correct my mistakes, so some of you might not have been able to benefit from their work but future readers will, and thank god for that. Thank you P.
> 
> I've discovered fanfiction in march, MARCH. The whole thing. And I've written my first "proper" fanfic a month and a half ago. House arrest is my third attempt.
> 
> You've made this the most exceptional and unique experience. I don't care if it's way too dramatic, it's just true. 
> 
> THANK YOU for your comments, I cannot stress enough how crucial they've been for me -they've effortlessly compelled me to write more than the 11 chapters I initially planned on writing.  
> You're the fucking best.  
> I hope you get to thrive like Gods and Godesses all your damn lives. 
> 
> See you soon =)


	32. Epilogue -  Bébé (Domestic Bliss)

 

 

His AA meetings aren't mandatory anymore. But he's still going. 

 

Less often than before, but still. 

 

That's not something he could have predicted he would do, a year ago, when he started going. 

 

He's back from one meeting on that september night, and she's still cooking when he comes home. He's sure she chose a meal that's long to prepare just so he could eat with her. His sweet, sweet angel.

 

 _No_. He's not gonna let that soften him. 

 

They have some things to discuss. 

She's in front of the stove saying  _hi_ to him with a timid smile, moving some rice around in a pan with a wooden spatula, and he doesn't answer. Instead he opens a cupboard to take a clean cloth that he unfolds. 

 

He gets close to her, cups her chin to hold it in place and wipes off the powder she has on the left half of her face -flour or grinded garlic? Ginger maybe?

 

She stills and shuts her mouth and her eyes hard as he wipes off everything a bit roughly. He puts a peck on her lips when he's done -just a peck, because they need to talk right away. 

 

"Rey?"

 

"Yes?"

Her voice's a bit small, but she's still smiling, because she's unsuspecting, focusing on her pan and how she moves the rice. 

 

"Could you tell your students to stop following me you think?"

 

She freezes. 

She doesn't look at him.

 

Despite knowing exactly what he's talking about she goes: "W-what?"

 

"Would it be possible for you to tell your students to stop _following me_?"

 

He said it with a lower voice, and slower. He's not mad at her, but she needs to understand this is serious. 

 

She does, apparently, because she doesn't know where to look. 

 

He adds, so she can fully appreciate the gravity of the situation:

 

"At first it was only two or three, but tonight they were _eleven_ -this is getting ridiculous."

 

"...I thought they only followed me." she finally tells him. 

 

... well. Now he knows what he needed to know. 

So she's not asking them to do that. Of course not. How unlikely is that?

It's just that --it was the only logical explanation to him. Why else would they do it? Are kids _that_ bored nowadays?

 

His face is blank, when he asks, carefully unrolling the words: 

 

"Remember that time when we ate on a bench near the skate park, Rey?"

 

He pauses, to see if she will confess right away. But she doesn't. 

 

"Do you?" he insists. 

 

" _Uh_ , I don't know."

 

As if they ate there a thousand times, and she can't tell which one he's talking about.

 

"Remember I thought I heard a teenage boy mention my name to his friend, and you said I probably dreamt it?"

 

Silence.

 

His tone is resigned. 

 

"He _did_ say my name ...didn't he?"

 

"... yes." she admits sheepishly.

 

_What in the fuck?_

 

This is the part where she would have said " _I'm sorry_ " a few months ago only, taking someone else's blame.

That's progress. She doesn't say it as much when she shouldn't.

 

Although he can clearly tell she _is_ sorry.

 

He tries to remember that he's not mad at _her_ , that he should remain calm.

 

"--How did he know my name?" 

 

Now her eyes widen like she just realized she opened another Pandora box. 

 

 _"Aaaah, uuuh---"_ is all she's able to articulate. 

 

His blood freezes.

 

_"You told them my name?"_

 

"No !" she exclaims promptly, her hands up to him, and she really sounds sincere. 

 

She swallows, then gets closer to him, as if she might be heard by someone other than him. She hardly can look at him when she murmurs:

 

"I-I think they might, ... _sometimes_ , ...hack into--"

 

He doesn't mean to cut her off, but he's horrified:

" _WHAT_."

 

She hurries to add: "I-I I don't have any _proof_ , though, I just _assume_ \--"

 

"You assume?"

 

"--since they know my social security number--"

 

"WHAT?? _Oh my god_. Rey."

 

She goes on: "I, I think they might have hacked the school security system once--"

 

He closes his eyes in disbelief. Then mutters, rubbing his face: " _What the fuck--?_ "

 

He opens his eyes when he feels her snuggle against him. Pulling him down for a kiss. 

She does kiss him when he bends a bit, letting her hands wander over his chest, then circle his waist. 

 

Oh she's, she's just---  _she's, she's_ \--

 

 _\---_ _evil_.

 

She just fucking _knows_ what she's doing, and he falls for it every time despite being aware it's only a diversion on her part -not that she doesn't get any pleasure from it. 

 

Every time she pulls away it's like his memory's been erased. 

 

Well.

Fuck it then.

 

They don't have to worry about the kids too long anyway, after that night, because only a month later Leia manages to get a job interview for Rey as a civil engineer, thanks to an old friend who works for the government. 

 

Until the very last minute, it's almost certain she won't get the job. She miserably failed her interview, and she has almost no experience.

 

But Leia's persistance could have her prosecuted for harassment. 

She threatens some friends, reminds others of what they owe her, makes beautiful promises to strangers, and a week later, Rey gets a call.

 

The first week, everybody hates her.

Her new colleagues are cold to her, distant, impatient, bossy, and she comes home trying her best not to cry as soon as she passes the door.

 

Ben gets through it okay the first couple of days but very soon he can't stand it, and by the end of the week he almost insists she quits. 

 

But by the second week, she gets a chance to show what she's capable of. 

 

Getting all the respect she can get from those same colleagues in the process.

 

Then she can definitely put teaching behind her. And the middle-shool. And the kids.

Although she invites Rose at home a lot.

 

And he still spots some teenagers walking in silence behind him sometimes.

 

The first time she wants to watch a VHS instead of going straight to the bedroom after diner, he downright _sulks_. Who cares about stupid movies. 

 

"I don't like black and white movies." 

 

"Me neither," she says, sliding the VHS in.

 

He lies down on his back on the couch, and she lies down on her front on top of him. She can't even properly see the TV in this position.

 

But one night she says she can hear his hearbeat.

 

Another night she says she likes feeling his chest rise and fall against her. 

 

So he quickly figures it's not really about the movies, although she mouths the dialogue along, and he does too sooner than anticipated, as he comes to know by heart every one of them.

 

In their first year of them living together, they argue. It happens. 

 

" _No_ ," he barks.

 

"Yes."

 

It's a small voice in comparison to his, but it's steady, and more importantly she doesn't even look at him, unfased, as she's taking a pot out of a cupboard.

 

"Come on, Rey, please. Let's not."

 

"Let's."

 

"Rey. It's gonna take four hours to prepare, we're not eating at midnight."

 

"Spanish people eat late."

 

"Spanish people think running with the bulls is fun. Should we make a list of all the reasons why Spanish people are insane? I'm hungry  _now_. "

 

She shrugs. 

 

She just shrugs. 

 

He tries to scowl at her, show her that he's not okay with this, but she just blinks at him, before going back to her preparation. 

 

"I'm ordering pizza." he threatens.

 

She looks at him. He flinches. She waits. 

 

"Are you?" she asks. 

 

"...no."

 

He can't be fucking mad at her.

That's a real problem for him.

 

But it's okay, he takes his revenge in bed.

 

_Oh, he does._

 

She doesn't blush as much as she used to, but he's never short on creative ideas to make her go pinker than ever and _hot_ , fucking her thoroughly until she can't think straight, having her fall into such soundless sleeps afterwards it seems she might not wake up before next year.

 

The memory of how she asked him to move in serves him well for all the times she scowls at him for no reason; he knows better now, and recognizes it as a signal she wants to talk about something serious.

 

One day she scowls at him first thing  _in the morning._

 

Only to tell him over breakfast they're gonna adopt a pet pig. 

 

He has no say in it.

 

When she brings it back home, it's still fairly small. Its name, she tells him, is _Bébé_.

 

A french version of _Babe_ , he supposes.

 

_He fucking hates the thing._

 

He refuses to even touch it, snarling at it when it grunts and squeals.

She doesn't care.

 

When he's alone in a room with it, he threatens it all he can, swearing he'll turn it into bacon very soon.

 

A month later, it got much bigger, and Ben's the one holding it in his arms pleading that they let it sleep in the bed with them. 

 

"He's scared, Rey, come on."

 

He wishes he could say  he's being quirky, but the worst part is he's actually serious.

Bébé grunts against him to second the motion.

 

"We don't want to give him a bad habit," she counters weakly, looking at the pig with a sad pout. "And the bed is too small."

 

"We really need to buy a new bed."

That's the conclusion he draws from her objections.

 

Not that the pig should sleep in its own bed, but that _they_ need a bigger bed, so that the pig can sleep inside it with them.

 

_What the fuck did she do to him??_

 

"He's gonna cry all night," he tries again.

 

She has a sad crease on her forehead: "I might kick him out of the bed in my sleep again."

 

He sighs sharply, looking at the pig. 

 

"We really need a new fucking bed."

 

They've been living together for a whole year, when she scowls at him again one morning. 

He takes it lightly, although he's a bit anxious it's gonna be about another pet. 

 

He's a bit less carefree when she doesn't get it out during breakfast. It usually doesn't last long, an hour or two at most.

 

It's a Sunday, and she finishes cooking lunch around two o'clock in the afternoon, and _she still hasn't told him what it was about._

 

His mind races.

 

Does she want to move out? On the other side of the country? Did she stab Leia?

Did she figure out she was gay after all?

 

What is it, what is it? _Fuck_.

 

There's no use in asking her, she won't tell him until she's ready. He tried before. She'd just mutter "nothing", before going back to some more scowling. 

 

They're eating lunch, and he believes they're gonna go through the whole meal without her speaking. 

 

_They even get to desert._

He lets his guards down, thinking she'll tell him at diner -being sick about it.

 

He's furiously chewing a piece of bread when she speaks.

 

"I want a baby."

 

_No air. No air._

He lets out a strangled noise, choking on his bread. 

 

He tries to breathe in but can't as the bread got stuck, so he rocks on his seat back and forth, punching his chest to get the piece of food to go down. He lets out a ragged grunt, then starts to cough for a _long-ass time_ trying to recover, his eyes blurry, only to finally spit the piece of bread in his plate.

 

She just looks at him attentively, waiting for his reponse.

 

He clears his throat several times, brings a glass of water to his lips to have a few sips. He wipes the tears that formed at the corner of his eyes, finally able to breathe.

 

"Okay," he says with the voice of someone who's smoked cigars every day for the past fifty years.

 

"We'll try tonight."

 

"Okay."

 

"I'm off the pill."

 

"Oh, good."

 

He lets the information sink in, as he can tell now the tears clinging to his eyes aren't from him choking a moment ago. 

 

She murmurs:

"Marius if it's a boy, Fanny if it's a girl."

 

She's thought about this, hasn't she?

 

"Actually, forget about Marius, I won't recognize the kid if it's a boy." he replies dryly.

 

Her eyes don't widen. Her head doesn't jerk up.

 

She just smiles. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;D
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**Author's Note:**

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